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TOUCHING SECOND 



TOUCHING SECOND 

The Science of Baseball 



The History of the National Game; Its Development 
Into an Exact Mathematical Sport; Records of 
Great Plays and Players; Anecdotes and 
Incidents of Decisive Struggles on 
the Diamond; Signs and Sys- 
tems Used by Cham- 
pionship Teams. 



BY 

JOHN J. EVERS 

AND 

HUGH S. FULLERTON 



With Illustrations, Charts and Diagrams 




PUBLISHERS 

THE REILLY & BRITTON COMPANY 

CHICAGO 



COPYRIGHT, 1910, 

by 

THE REILLY & BRITTON CO. 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 



Published April 25, 1910 
Second Edition, May 16, 1910 



©GiA?565949 



INTRODUCTION 

- A ball player who has served on a championship base- 
ball club for seven seasons and a reporter who has 
followed the fortunes of winning and losing teams for 
twenty years decided to pool their knowledge of the 
game and its players and produce a book. They agreed 
that past generations of ball players and reporters have 
left only garbled traditions and scattered fragments of 
their knowledge of the game and that the science of 
baseball, as understood now, should be preserved in 
some way for future generations to use or to im- 
prove upon. They designed the book not only to be a 
history of the present day development of the American 
game, but also as a high text book for the lovers of 
baseball, for players in the amateur and school fields, 
and for the ''fans" generally. That they do not know 
all about baseball, they freely concede, but present a 
general study of the inside science of the game based 
on long experience, dozens of the great players past 
and present being unconscious contributors. 

The manuscript was originally written by the re- 
porter and was rewritten, added to, corrected and re- 
vised, by the player. In it are included several articles 
originally printed in The American Magazine under 
the reporter's name, with corrections and additions by 
the player. The whole was rewritten into its present 
form by the authors, working together, and is pre- 
sented with the hope that it may assist "fans," younger 
ball players and all lovers of baseball to a better appre- 
ciation of the finer points of the national game, and 
enable them to see behind the moves of the men on the 
field, the generalship and brainwork of "inside play." 

April, ipio. 



LIST OF CHAPTERS 

Chapter No. Page 

I The Game ii 

II The Players 25 

III Baseball Law 42 

IV Creating a Winning Team 56 

V Managers and Their Duties TZ 

VI Catching 87 

VII Pitching 100 

VIII The Inside Game 119 

IX Outfielding 140 

X Batting 154 

XI Base Running 168 

XII Umpiring 181 

XIII Developing New Plays 196 

XIV Combination Plays 209 

XV The Spring Training 220 

XVI Fine Points of the Game 246 

XVII On the Bench 263 

XVIII Deciding Moments of Great Games 282 

XIX Scoring 300 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

John J. Evers Frontispiece 

Tyrus Cobb, an "all-round" player 36 

Roger Bresnahan, catcher and manager 78 

"Red" Dooin, catcher 94 

Vic Willis, pitcher 104 

Ed Walsh, of the White Sox no 

Harry Krause, pitcher 116 

Napoleon La Joie, star infielder 128 

Harry Lumley, outfielder 146 

Hans Wagner, heavy hitter 164 

"The Chicago Slide" (Lobert and Kling) 174 

Tris Speaker, a "find" of 1909 200 

Christy Mathewson 228 

Mordecai Brown 236 

Eddie Collins, of the Athletics 250 

Photograph of a "Fullerton Score" 304 



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THEGAME 13 

two feet additional distance would make it almost im- 
possible for a team to score. If the distance between 
the bases was 88 feet the scores would run into double 
figures in almost every game. The distances have 
been so calculated and the players so distributed, that 
each of the nine men on defense has exactly the amount 
of ground to cover that the fastest runner possibly 
can cover with a flying start. 

As a problem in geometry, baseball, in any of its de- 
partments, may be reduced to exact figures. In algebra 
the laws of choice and chance may be applied directly 
to the game. As a scientific pastime, involving the 
laws of physics and mathematics, the game appeals to 
the studious. As an exhibition of physical ' skill and 
endurance it attracts all lovers of athletics; involving 
quick thinking, a high degree of generalship and brain- 
work, it draws the attention of many who ordinarily 
care nothing for sports or games. 

Baseball once was defined as "nine durn fools club- 
bing a ball around and nine other durn fools chasing 
it." The definition, while trite, is erroneous, for, in the 
present day, a fool would have as great a chance to 
succeed in any of the professions as he would in baseball. 

Charlie Bennett, the once great catcher, who lost 
both legs in a railway accident at the height of his 
career, illustrated this fact in making a bull. He was 
watching a game at Detroit when a young base runner, 
trying to steal second, slid straight at the baseman, 
who was reaching to take a high throw. The base- 



14 TOUCHING SECOND 

man blocked him with one leg, caught the ball and 
touched the runner out. 

"I could have beaten that myself," muttered Ben- 
nett m disgust. 

"Without legs, Charlie?" inquired a friend. 

"Yes — without legs," snorted Bennett angrily, "for I 
would have had brains enough not to slide where he 
could block my feet." 

Besides interesting almost all classes of Americans, 
including every imported race after the first genera- 
tion, baseball has an added interest which, to a great 
extent, explains its widespread vogue, and this is 
the element of local popularity. The game in America 
has reached an almost feudal stage. Each city pos- 
sessing a ball team takes the same pride and interest 
in it and accords it the same loyal support that the 
cities of mediaeval Europe did to their chosen bands of 
warrior knights. To what extent this pride and loy- 
alty exists is scarcely understood, a close race between 
teams representing rival towns sometimes creating a 
condition not far removed from civil warfare. 

Probably there is not one person in one hundred 
over fourteen years of age in the United States who 
does not understand at least the basic principles of the 
game and scarcely one native born American in a thou- 
sand who has not at some time played the game. A 
canvass of the House of Representatives at Wash- 
ington made by the late Joe Campbell during one ses- 
sion of Congress revealed the fact that every man in the 
House understood baseball and all except two had 



THEGAME 15 

played the game. One of the two was crippled and 
the other was partially blind. Campbell obtained from 
each member a story of his baseball experiences. At 
that time there were seven members of Congress who 
had played professional baseball, one of them being 
Senator Arthur Pugh Gorman. 

The extent to which the game has seized upon the 
people, regardless of class, may be judged by the fact 
that the number of persons who paid admission to see 
major league baseball games in one season exceeded 
the adult population of the United States. In one day 
(a week day) the total attendance upon baseball games 
at 107 parks under organized baseball was given at 
543,200, and the largest crowd was given at 24,800. 
How half a million persons could leave business for 
half a day to attend games was not explained. These 
figures are from the records of games in leagues under 
the National agreement, operated as a business. How 
many were attending amateur, semi-professional and 
college games on that same day cannot be estimated. 
Nor can anyone tell accurately how many baseball 
teams there are in the United States. The city of Chi- 
cago alone, with two major league clubs, and twenty- 
six semi-professional teams, has registered over 550 
baseball clubs with nearly 75,000 players. A close esti- 
mate of attendance upon baseball games in Chicago one 
Sunday with both the American and National League 
teams playing at home showed that about 400,000 per- 
sons spent part of Sunday afternoon watching ball 
games. The scores of 278 games played on that Sun- 



16 TOUCHING SECOND 

day in and around Chicago were received by one news- 
paper. This proportion of interest scarcely can be main- 
tained throughout the country. Chicago is a Sunday 
ball town and the game on that day is the chief amuse- 
ment of the people. And every town and hamlet, city, 
college, almost every church, young people's society, 
and club, every farm hamlet and cross roads village 
has its baseball team. 

The extent to which the people are familiar with the 
game and interested in it may be judged by a story. A 
few years ago the clubs representing Chicago in the 
American and National Leagues won the champion- 
ships in their own leagues and met to play for the 
World's Championship. Chicago was in a turmoil for 
weeks, business was neglected, and work in many cases 
abandoned. The foreman of one of the great news- 
papers was compelled to send all the American League 
adherents in his office to one department and the Na- 
tional Leaguers to another, keeping them apart so the 
paper might be printed without delay. Police records 
showed hundreds of arrests of men who fought while 
disputing the merits of the two teams. 

The Sunday editor of one paper sent three reporters 
out into the city to discover some adult male citizen who 
did not know that the White Sox and Cubs were to 
play. After five days of canvassing m.any sections of 
the cifty and all classes of its cosmopolitan population 
the man was found. He was a German butcher and 
he became famous in a day as the only man in Chicago 
who was ignorant of baseball and the approaching se- 



THEGAME 17 

ries. But even he became a convert, for Comiskey sent 
him a season ticket to the American League games and 
before the next June he was one of the regular White 
Sox rooters. 

During that same series, when the West Side and the 
South Side were engaged almost in civil war, there 
was an Irishman named Faugh, a Ballagh Finnegan, 
better known as "Fog," who had made a small fortune 
in trade on the West Side, and who, although he never 
had seen a game, was one of the most loyal supporters 
of the West Side team. On the day of the first game 
"Fog," gloriously arrayed, and with much money to 
wager, was the center of a group of ardent West Siders 
assembled in one section of the South Side stands. 
Standing on his seat he defied the White Sox sup- 
porters and flaunted his money in their faces. 

"Wan hundred to sixty on the Wist Side," he 
shouted. 

"Wan hundrid to fifty. Wan hundrid to forty." 

The South Siders, who were not betting on their 
team, ignored him. He shouted, challenged, and yelled 
the praises of the West Side. Presently the umpire 
brushed ofif the plate and announced : — 

"Ladies and Gentlemen — The batteries for today's 
game will be Reulbach and Kling for the West Side. 
Walsh and Sullivan for the South Side." 

For an instant "Fog" blinked hard, wavering be- 
tween loyalty to the West Side and love of Ireland. 
Then, leaping up again, he shouted, 



18 TOUCHING SECOND 

"Walsh and Sullivan — thim's they byes I meant. 
Wan hundrid to sixty on the South Side." 

The interest in that struggle in Chicago was dupli- 
cated over the entire country the following year when 
Chicago and New York engaged in their bitter contest 
for the National League championship. The presiden- 
tial campaign was at its height, but the interest in the 
baseball race overshadowed it. Norman Mack, chair- 
man of the Democratic National Committee, met one 
of the club owners on the street. 

"When is that baseball season going to end?" he 
inquired anxiously. 

The club owner explained the situation. 

"Well," remarked Mack, "Hurry up and get it over 
with. We want to stir up some interest in the cam- 
paign." 

On the day when the teams played off their tie for 
the championship, the Democratic National headquar- 
ters was turned into a baseball meeting. A committee- 
man from Oregon, entering to report, complained to 
Mack that he could not get a hearing. 

"They're in the sixth inning now," remarked Mack. 
"In about an hour we can start to do business." And 
he joined the c/owd at the ticker, 
f Baseball, under that name, had its beginning at 
Cooperstown, N. Y., in 1839, although afterward the 
name was changed, the game being called the "New 
York game," with the "Massachusetts game" follow- 
ing later, the rules being somewhat different. Before 
the invention of baseball the English game of "round- 



THEGAME 19 

ers" and ''town ball" and "three hole cat" had been 
played in America with balls, bats and bases. In 1839 
a West Point cadet named Doubleday, appointed from 
Cooperstown and probably at home on furlough, in- 
vented the game. Doubleday afterwards was a briga- 
dier general in the army and famous as a mathemati- 
cian. He organized a team of seven boys to play the 
game, first against two batters, then against any num- 
ber present and not engaged in fielding. Later he 
placed nine men on a side, assigned their positions and 
played games. As to whether Cadet Doubleday intro- 
duced the game into West Point upon his return to the 
academy there is much dispute. It is said by several 
army veterans that the class of 1841 played a game 
believed to be the Doubleday game against another 
class team, but this has been denied. 

Alexander J. Cartwright, of New York, proposed a 
similar game in 1845, niathematically calculated the 
distance between bases, and, singularly enough, adopted 
90 feet as the correct distance, exactly as Doubleday 
had done. The wisdom of the mathematical calcula- 
tions of these pioneers is vouched for by the ex- 
perts of to-day. Cartwright wrote rules for his game 
and organized a club, first trying seven players, then 
nine. 

Baseball, under the name of the "New York game,'* 
became popular at once and was played widely through 
the eastern states, the rules, however, varying in almost 
every district so that it was difficult to arrange matches. 
Each team was forced to concede some rules to the 



20 TOUCHING SECOND 



other, and lengthy conferences preceded inter-city 
matches before the rules could be agreed upon. In 
some towns 21 "aces" (or, as we call them, "runs") 
constituted a game. In others, especially where cricket 
had been played, 100 "rounds" or tallies constituted a 
game and frequently many days were required to com- 
plete a match. 

The Knickerbocker club, of New York, framed a 
complete code of rules in 1845, the basic principles laid 
down in the rules being the same as those now prevail- 
ing. The rules placed the bases 42 paces apart and 21 
"aces" constituted a game. The new game had taken 
well in Brooklyn, which was the center of athletic ac- 
tivity, and the Knickerbocker rules prevailed among 
the Brooklyn clubs. The Hudson river towns and 
cities adopted the game, and adapted the rules to suit 
their own views. It was played entirely by amateurs, 
and while called "baseball" in some places it continued 
to be called the "New York game" or "New York" 
until it was introduced into Boston by the Tri-Moun- 
tain team in 1858. 

Boston, having been a cricketing center, objected to 
the New York rules, changed them and played the 
"Massachusetts game," in which 100 runs constituted 
a game. The records of games played in Boston and 
Cambridge show that sometimes five days were required 
to complete a match. Harvard teams engaged in the 
"Massachusetts game" soon after its introduction in 
Boston and became leaders in the new pastime. 



THEGAME 21 

With the organization of the National Baseball 
Association in 1858, the game began to approach uni- 
formity. The rules were amended and codified and 
baseball quickly succeeded cricket as the popular sport. 
From the first, local patriotism played an important part 
in the sport. Matches played for as high as $1,000 a 
side were frequent. Brawls, clashes between partisan 
crowds, and assaults upon umpires are recorded even 
in those days. 

In i860 baseball had become almost national in scope, 
and the rules were constantly modified as the play de- 
veloped necessities for restricting certain practices. The 
game spread westward rapidly, and made much better 
progress in western cities than in the east. The civil 
war, however, arrested the development of the new 
game for a time. It was played during the war in 
camps all over the south, regiments and companies hav- 
ing their teams. Sergeant Dryden, of an Iowa regi- 
ment, relates that during the long waits in the trenches 
before Vicksburg, the Union and Confederate soldiers 
jokingly challenged each other to play baseball, and 
that during the brief truces the men of his company 
and the enemy played catch from line to line. 

"We were throwing and catching the ball belonging 
to our company team one day" he relates, "when firing 
commenced afresh and the men dived into their holes. 
There was a big fellow named Holleran who, after we 
had got under cover, wanted to go over and whip the 
'Johnny Reb' who had stolen our ball. The next 
morning during a lull in the firing, that *Reb' yelled 



22 TOUCHING SECOND 

to us and in a minute the baseball came flying over the 
works, so we played a game on our next relief." 

The returning soldiers gave the game new impetus 
in 1865 and within a few years the West became the 
important factor in the development of baseball. Chi- 
cago, Rockford and Freeport, III, Cincinnati, Youngs- 
town, O., and many of the small cities produced famous 
clubs, while in the East, Providence, Troy, Lynn, 
Mass., Hornellsville, N. Y., and cities scarcely heard 
from since became prominent because of their teams. 

The first move toward professionalizing the game 
was made in 1864 when Al. J. Reach, afterwards fa- 
mous as a player and manufacturer of sporting goods, 
v/as paid a salary to play with the Philadelphia club. 
In the late sixties the Cincinnati Cricket Club, of which 
Harry Wright was the leading spirit, organized a pro- 
fessional baseball team called the Red Stockings 
which toured the country, advertising the Queen City 
and demonstrating the commercial possibilities of the 
game. 

In 1 87 1 a move was made which came near bringing 
baseball into disgrace and preventing its growth. This 
was the organization of the National Association of 
Professional Baseball Players. This body established 
itself in power, the players governing the game and 
themselves, and continued to rule until 1875. During 
that time gamblers, in collusion with certain players, 
gained control of baseball, and open gambling and the 
selling of pools was conducted in connection with many 
parks. The confidence of the public was destroyed, and 



THE GAME 23 

except as a gambling institution baseball attracted little 
attention in the professional field. Grave charges of 
selling games, and in some cases proof of crooked play- 
ing, resulted from the reign of the gamblers and the 
dishonest among players and managers. 

The game sufifered in popularity, even in the amateur 
field, and the players who were in charge of the organ- 
ization proved failures. When in 1876 the National 
League of Professional Baseball Clubs succeeded to the 
control of baseball and took the game out of the hands 
of the players, the promoters made a stern attempt to 
punish players guilty of selling games and to stamp out 
gambling as the only means of salvation of the pastime. 

William H. Hulbert, president of the league, saved 
the game by a radical move. He summarily expelled 
and placed upon a blacklist every player accused of 
being connected with the gambling frauds, whether the 
charges were proved or not. Some innocents may have 
suffered, but Hulbert drove the gamblers from the 
parks. 

Again baseball recovered and flourished, increasing 
steadily in popularity until 1890, when an insurrection 
of the players against the National League club owners 
checked its progress. The cause of the rebellion was 
the attempt of the club owners to limit all salaries. The 
players for a time seemed triumphant, but leaders 
among them treacherously sold them out to the club 
owners and the Player's League collapsed, leaving the 



24 TOUCHING SECOND 

owners heavily in debt and the game discredited in 
many places. 

Slowly the era of prosperity returned. Interest in- 
creased rapidly. Baseball was flourishing more and 
more until 1900, When a war between the two great 
leagues of the country gave it another serious reverse. 
With the re-establishment of peace and uniform laws 
governing all clubs and players the game made wonder- 
ful strides forward year by year. The owners of the 
major league clubs themselves were surprised. The 
development of interest in the game during the last ten 
years has been so rapid that men financially interested 
found themselves unable to accommodate their patrons. 
From the field in the pasture lot at Cooperstown, where 
Doubleday stepped off 90 feet, an era of million dollar 
plants, each seating up to 40,000 spectators, shows the 
change in the game. 

As an amusement enterprise baseball today is scarcely 
second to the theater. It caters to millions of spec- 
tators and represents an investment of perhaps $100,- 
000,000 in property and players. The property hold- 
ings of the National and American Leagues alone 
represent an investment of about $15,000,000. The 
sixteen major league clubs pay over $1,000,000 a season 
in salaries to players and spend nearly as much in secur- 
ing and trying out new players. Add to this the salary 
lists of thirty-eight minor leagues, and the wages paid 
by thousands of semi-professional clubs, and the immen- 
sity of the baseball business as an amusement enter- 
prise may be imagined. 



CHAPTER II 

THE PLAYERS 

There is scarcely a sport known to the world in 
which professionalism does not exert a lowering in- 
fluence. Cricket, golf, even the turf, draw strict lines 
between the amateur and the professional. In most 
branches of athletics to become a professional means 
to take a step backward in the social scale and in the 
estimation of fellow men. 

The great exception to this rule is baseball. The 
chief reason for this is that baseball in the United 
States and Canada no longer is upon a doubtful basis, 
but ranks as an established and honorable trade. In 
addition the game requires exceptional qualities of body 
and mind, and in consequence perfect physical condi- 
tion, involving moral restrictions, not only is insisted 
upon, but brings exceptional rewards. 

In the earlier days of the game professional players 
were looked upon, in many cases justly, as ruffians or 
at best itinerant ne'er-do-weels. In many towns and ' 
cities of that time the atrocious conduct of the hired 
athletes, their carousals and misbehavior on and off the 
field, gave the sport and its players a bad name. Play- 
ers of that day were recruits who looked upon the game 
as a means of gratifying nomadic tastes. Few of them 
expected to continue in the sport, and regarded an en- 

25 



26 TOUCHING SECOND 

gagement as a summer outing, to be devoted to having 
a good time. 

The end of that era came when baseball became a 
paying commercial venture and was placed upon a 
business basis. During the early days of the National 
League, as well as the smaller leagues, club owners, 
managers and backers invested in the game for the love 
of the sport itself and without much thought of getting 
any monetary returns. They expected to lose money; 
or possibly to regain it through the advertising the 
team would give them or their cities, rather than in 
actual receipts at the gates. They organized and oper- 
ated their teams from that standpoint. Some of the 
owners were wealthy men, backing teams as an amuse- 
ment or from a personal pride. There was no recog- 
nized basis for salaries, but the average was low, and 
attracted only the adventurous or the tough, scrappy 
athletes from the back lots and bottoms of cities. While 
here and there were men of character and of education, 
decent clean young men who loved the game, the aver- 
age of the players was low, morally and intellectually. 

When the owners began to perceive that the sport was 
the latent rival of the theater in financial possibilities 
and possibly might become the greatest amusement en- 
terprise in the world, the necessity of curbing rowdyism 
among the players and of obtaining men of higher 
moral and mental equipment impressed itself upon some 
of them. A few still held out for the old order of 
things. The majority, however, became wiser. They 
had seen crowds suddenly cease to attend games ; whole 



THE'PLAYERS 27 

cities turn in disgust against teams and their tactics ; as 
happened in Cleveland, Baltimore, and once in New 
York. The owners then decided to cater to the pa- 
trons; to protect them from the insults and revilings 
and the coarse words and acts of some of the men. 

Much as the "commercialization of baseball" is to be 
regretted from some standpoints, the fact that it has 
abolished rowdyism, brought a higher, cleaner and more 
sportsmanlike class of players into the game and put 
a premium on brains, commends the business adminis- 
tration. With the beginning of financial prosperity to 
owners, who had long struggled against loss and some- 
times ruin, a higher class of men was attracted to the 
profession. The colleges sent some of their best men; 
young athletes who under ordinary conditions would 
have remained at home and entered business were 
lured to the game by the chances of big salaries and 
some honors. 

This revolution of conditions began before the 
Brotherhood fight which culminated in the revolt of the 
players in 1890. The game was beginning to prosper 
after years of struggle, salaries were growing higher 
and higher, and club owners were bidding against each 
other for the services of the best players. In that re- 
spect, baseball is one of the oddest of all business ven- 
tures. Eight club owners in the league are partners in 
business, sharing receipts, sharing prosperity and ad- 
versity. Yet all the time these business partners must 
strive to beat each other on the field and to take each 
other's players away from them. The National League 



28 TOUCHING SECOND 

has almost from the start been mercenary, and this un- 
avoidable condition, which reduced profits largely, 
the club owners sought to abolish by agreeing to en- 
force a salary limit, whereby the highest salary paid 
to any player was to be $2,000. The players revolted 
against this reduction of salaries, organized a rival 
league, and salaries leaped to five times that fig-ure, 
bringing disaster upon everyone concerned. 

The restoration of peace reduced salaries again, but 
they increased steadily during the next ten year period, 
as the game grew in popularity and returned large 
financial receipts. The National League had inaugu- 
rated another salary reducing campaign in 1899, which 
ended abruptly v^hen the American League invaded the 
field and sent salaries to a war-time footing again by 
bidding for players. At the restoration of peace sala- 
ries had -reached so high a figure that baseball offered a 
chance of quick riches to a high class of youths who 
speedily enlisted. Salaries fell after the peace pact, 
but have continued to increase steadily and healthily to 
the present time. 

The reforms among the players which the National 
League had striven in vain to bring about were ac- 
complished as a result of the war between the American 
and National Leagues. Up to that time the rowdy 
element in professional baseball had been rampant ; and 
the players of greatest prominence considered them- 
selves almost beyond control of their managers. The 
young players entering the profession in many in- 



THE PLAYERS 29 

stances fell under the influence of the disorderly ele- 
ment and became their allies. The American League, 
raiding the National, took away most of its star play- 
ers, but also got most of the disorderly element. These 
men, scattered through new clubs and sharply curbed, 
lost much of their power and influence. The American 
League found itself compelled to adopt stern repressive 
measures while the National, with clubs of young and 
aspiring recruits, was relieved of the necessity of re- 
pressing them, and started right with the new men by 
placing a premium oh decency and good behavior. 

The owners and managers came at last to realize that 
players of the carousing type could not maintain them- 
selves in good playing condition through an entire sea- 
son, while the sober and hard working players, even 
when less brilliant, were found to bring better results. 

The establishment of two major leagues of equal or 
nearly equal caliber immediately doubled the demand 
for first-class players, and developed the fact that, 
with perhaps 100,000 active players in the minor 
leagues, college, semi-professional and strong amateur 
teams, it was extremely diflicult to find 325 men good 
enough, and with experience enough, to fill the sixteen 
clubs of the two major leagues. This famine in ath- 
letes not only acted to increase the demand for players, 
and to add to salaries, but it impressed upon both own- 
ers and managers the necessity of keeping good ball 
players in condition. The live stock, upon which the 
fortunes of the owners depended, had become so valu- 
able that any depreciation found its way into profit and 



30 TOUCHING SECOND 

loss figures, and the watchful care of managers over the 
morals and physical grooming of players insured good 
behavior. As the game advanced and developed to- 
ward perfection, the demand for men above the aver- 
age in mentality as well as in strength and speed became 
greater and greater, and the value of the players rose 
steadily. 

The finding and developing of players is the greatest 
problem of the modern game. There is a dearth of 
really good players ; men of brains, speed and strength, 
coolness and character. The major leagues alone de- 
mand nearly two hundred new players each year to fill 
gaps in the ranks, and of these not more than twenty, 
or one in ten, is good enough to remain with the major 
league teams as a substitute even, and perhaps not more 
than an average of eight for the sixteen clubs secure 
regular positions, replacing veterans. 

It is almost impossible to purchase players of worth, 
but outside of all monetary considerations it is certain 
that the manager of a weak major league club cannot, 
even if given his choice of all the players in America 
outside the major leagues, get together a team good 
enough to raise his city into the first division unless 
phenomenal luck attends his efforts and a half a dozen 
players develop suddenly after being promoted. 

There have been instances of teams being thrown to- 
gether that fitted exactly, but they are baseball miracles. 
The modern manager has as much chance of putting 
together a winning team in one season as he would 
have of throwing a handful of mud into the air and 



THE PLAYERS 31 

having it come down as a Sevres vase. John Grim, 
who has managed baseball clubs in almost every league 
and state in the United States, once put together a team 
of ten men to represent Portland, Ore., in the North- 
west League. He had two weeks in which to create 
a team out of nothing and a few thousand dollars. In 
ten days he gathered from all over the United States 
ten players, most of whom he never had seen before 
and knew little about. He moved on Portland with 
his squad. Every man in the squad developed into a 
good ball player. All ten remained with the team 
through the entire season, and with only one recruit 
they won the championship from three other teams of 
experienced players. 

Sometimes players are found in coveys, like quail. 
Hornellsville, N. Y., once gave to the major leagues six 
players in one year. Lowe, Long, Ganzel and Ben- 
nett went from one team into fast company. There was 
a team which at one time represented Franklin, Pa., in 
the Iron and Oil League which, without making any 
spectacular showing in that humble organization, 
proved a gold mine. In one season that team developed 
and sent into the major league Jimmy Slagle, Claude 
Ritchey, Emmet Heidrick, Bill Taylor, "Sox" Seybold 
and Nichols, the Pittsburg left-handed pitcher, every 
one of whom at once sprang into prominence and most 
of whom afterwards came to be regarded as famous 
players. 

In the fall of 1908, Connie Mack, finding his all star 
Philadelphia Athletics decaying rapidly and threaten- 



32 TOUCHING SECOND 

ing to become a hopelessly slow club, discarded practi- 
cally his entire team, and starting afresh to build a new- 
club, retaining only a few of the veterans to balance 
the new men and tea(^h them the tricks of the trade, 
had the phenomenal luck to develop a team which came 
near being of championship caliber. He discovered 
Collins, whose infield play was the sensation of the 
American League in 1909, and Krause, a left-hander, 
who stepped directly into the front rank of the pitchers 
of the country. Besides these he found several men 
better than those he had cast off. But such records are 
freaks. Usually when a team passes its prime and be- 
gins to retrograde, years are required — years and for- 
tunes — before another winning team is produced. 

In the earlier days of the game players usually came 
in pairs, a pitcher and a catcher together; and were 
mainly recruited from cities. The (reason for this was 
that they started together, throwing and catching back 
of the shop during the noon-hour recess. Half the play- 
ers entered the profession either as pitchers or catchers 
and found their other positions after joining the team 
and failing in battery positions. Such a thing is next 
to impossible under modern conditions, because base- 
ball today is one of the most highly specialized of all 
trades. A second baseman is as distinct from a short 
stop as the paying teller of a bank is from the individual 
ledger man. The right fielder may be able to play left 
field, but not nearly so well as he can his own position. 
Why a player is fitted for one position and useless in 



THE PLAYERS 33 

others is explained later in the individual study of the 
positions, the men and their duties. 

The supply of players of major league caliber is so 
small that the owners of clubs in the American and 
National Leagues, and the higher minor leagues have 
resorted to dragnet methods to discover them and to 
pull them from the back lots, the college fields and the 
country playgrounds. Each club employs a scouting 
force, usually composed of veteran players or retired 
owners. The duty of these scouts is to scour the entire 
country, league after league, club after club, seeking 
men who by their playing show promise, or who by 
their actions or hitting ability give signs of future de- 
velopment. 

Each club receives hundreds of letters every week 
proclaiming the skill of players in distant places, and 
immediately the name of the player is listed, his records 
examined, his past history looked into, the evidence of 
persons who have watched him play is sought, and 
finally, if he seems to give promise, a scout is dispatched 
to see him work, and to report every detail of his build, 
his speed, his personal character and his habits. Money 
is not considered if the player shows sufficient ability, 
in the opinion of the scout, to play in the major leagues, 
either that year or within the next year, and the man is 
purchased outright immediately, often at surprising 
figures. 

The extent to which this scrutiny of players is in- 
dulged in by the owners and managers of major league 
clubs is almost unbelievable. Barney Dreyfuss, owner 



U TOUCHING SECOND 

of the Pittsburg club, has books in his offices in which 
are irecorded the names, addresses, descriptions, batting 
and fielding averages, character and general makeup of 
thousands of players of whom the baseball world never 
has heard and probably never will hear, except when 
they are produced in the form of a Wagner, a Leach or 
a Jay Miller. The country schoolmaster, playing ball 
at recess with the big boys, may be watched by a major 
league scout who sits on the fence. The minor league 
player may lay off some day to rest a sore finger and 
discover afterwards that a scout, who had traveled 
thousands of miles to see him play, was in the stands, 
and that he lost his chance of promotion by remaining 
idle on that day. 

It is related that Dreyfuss was sitting in a buggy on 
a dusty country turnpike near Goshen, O,, watching 
the schoolmaster playing "Anthony-over" with the 
boys. The schoolmaster caught the ball, wound up, 
and instead of throwing it back over the roof of the 
school, curved it around the building and hit one of the 
boys in the back. Dreyfuss thereupon climbed out of 
his buggy, and signed the schoolmaster to pitch for 
Pittsburg, thereby discovering Sam Leever, one of the 
greatest of pitchers. 

Dan O'Leary, when he was manager of the Indian- 
apolis club, arranged an exhibition game with the team 
representing a small town near the Indiana capital. 
The small town team looked fairly strong, but com- 
plained that their best player had been forced to work 
that day, refusing to remain idle when he could make 



THE PLAYERS 35 

$2 at his trade. O'Leary volunteered to persuade the 
player to get into the game. He hired a horse and 
buggy, drove three miles into the country and found the 
player busily engaged in shingling a barn. O'Leary 
agreed to pay him $3 if he would play against Indian- 
apolis that afternoon. In the game the lanky Hoosier 
twice hit the ball out of the pasture in which they were 
playing. O'Leary offered him a position on the 
Indianapolis team and took him away with the club 
that night. The carpenter was Sam Thompson, who 
developed into the greatest batter of his day and one 
of the hardest hitters the game ever has known. 

Hans Wagner became a ball player because George 
Moreland, who owned the Youngstown, O., club needed 
a pitcher and could pay only $35 a month. Wagner's 
brother, Al Wagner, suggested that he try Hans, who 
accepted the offer. 

There was one discouraged scout about ten years ago 
who lost one of the greatest pitchers ever developed 
because the pitcher was under a heavy handicap. Frank 
Bancroft, still-hunter after baseball talent of all sorts, 
was informed that there was a pitcher named Charlie 
Pickerel at Lynchburg, O., who was as good as any 
man on the Cincinnati list. Bancroft hastened into the 
country and watched Pickerel pitch. He was amazed 
at the speed and curves of the amateur and was on the 
point of making him an offer when he discovered the 
one weakness of the man. He could not pitch with his 
shoes on. Every inning when he went to the slab 
Pickerel removed his shoes, took a toe hold on the rub- 



36 TOUCHING SECOND 

ber and was another Rusie, but Bancroft feared compli- 
cations and allowed him to escape. 

Tom Ramsey, who perhaps was the most remarkable 
left-handed pitcher in the history of baseball, was dis- 
covered scientifically. He was a brick-layer, and being 
accustomed to gripping brick with his left hand while 
breaking them with his trowel, he had cultivated a mar- 
vellous power in thumb and forefingers. The Louis- 
ville club secured him on the report of a player who 
had seen Ramsey twist the cover of a baseball by pres- 
sure of his fingers. The player figured that a man 
with such power in his throwing hand ought to be a 
great pitcher, and Ramsey within a short time after 
joining the team, pitched curves of such wonderful 
speed and such quick breaks that he became the sensa- 
tion of the game. James A. Hart, when he was man- 
aging Louisville, studied the secret of Ramsey's suc- 
cess and instead of looking for ball players in minor 
leagues, went scouting for left-handed brick-layers, 
trailing them to the tops of buildings, but he never 
discovered another Ramsey. 

Nat Hudson, who won the World's Championship 
for St. Louis in the famous series between the St. 
Louis Browns under Comiskey and the Chicago White 
Stockings under Anson, was found in a peculiar man- 
ner. Comiskey was a Chicago man, and in the middle 
of a season he went to Chicago with his St. Louis club, 
being in desperate need of a pitcher. He was in a bar- 
ber shop when the barber suggested that he try Hudson, 
of whom Comiskey never had heard. On hunting for 



THE PLAYERS 37 

the pitcher Comiskey found that he lived directly across 
the street from his own home, so after searching the 
entire country for a pitcher, he got his star at his own 
doorsteps. 

But there are few such discoveries made under mod- 
ern conditions. The men are watched by scores of 
clubs; and records of their habits, dispositions, speed, 
hitting ability and intelligence are kept almost from the 
day they start to play. At one time in the early part 
of 1907 four scouts representing four major league 
clubs were in the stands at Springfield, 111., at one game, 
watching Doyle, for whom eight clubs had already 
made bids. The New York club, fearing some other 
club would get the player, paid $4,500 for him by 
telegraph without seeing him play, thus securing a 
great second baseman. In 1909 eleven clubs were bid- 
ding at one time for Blackburn, of Providence, who 
went to Comiskey's Chicago team. "Tad" Jones, the 
Yale catcher and football player, received offers from 
every major league club in the country during his senior 
year, but ,he refused to become a professional. 

Competition for the services of players became so 
great that club owners of the major leagues threw out 
dragnets and bought or drafted every player in the 
minor leagues who had shown signs of promise, fre- 
quently recruiting as many as fifty players for one 
club. The practice, of course, strengthened the strong 
and wealthy clubs and weakened the poorer ones, until 
in 1909 an agreement was reached by the club owners 
limiting the number of players each club could recruit. 



38 TOUCHING SECOND 

This step was taken to protect the financially weaker 
clubs of the major leagues, as well as to prevent the 
major leagues from disrupting all the smaller organi- 
zations by wholesale raids upon the players. 

Of the 325 (approximately) players carried on the 
pay-rolls of the major leagues during a season, not 
more than one hundred are -really finished and compe- 
tent players. It is extraordinary if ten out of the army 
of recruits tried out each spring develop even enough 
strength to hold a substitute position with the major 
league clubs, and the discovery of a really great player 
is as unusual as the finding of a Koh-i-noor. There is 
a moderate supply of "good" players, men of the ordin- 
ary ability, but extremely few of the Cobb, Wagner, 
Speaker, Mathewson, Brown, Kling, and Leach class. 

This scarcity of "great" players as distinguished from 
"good" players has been one of the sources of trouble 
to organized baseball, because it has served to make both 
classes dissatisfied. The "great" players think they 
should be paid proportionately great salaries, and the 
"good" players, even when admitting the superiority 
of the others, cannot be persuaded to figure the differ- 
ence of ability in dollars and cents. Beyond doubt, 
also, there has come with the securing of absolute power 
over the game and its players, a desire of the club own- 
ers to hold down salaries, especially of young and am- 
bitious players. Frequently the aspiring player is 
offered far less by the major league club than he received 
in the smaller leagues. He sometimes accepts in order 



THEPLAYERS 39 

to win promotion, but the policy has served to reduce 
further the supply of really good players. 

The close specialization in the modern game would 
amaze persons who rate all players merely as ''ball 
players," forgetting that the president of a railroad is 
a "railroad man" just as the brakeman is. Players now 
come as specialists in certain positions and insist upon 
signing to play that position alone. There are rare 
men, such as Leach of Pittsburg, Parent of the Chi- 
cago White Sox, Hofman of the Cubs, and Wagner, 
who can play in almost any position. In a way this 
specialization has assisted the makers of teams greatly. 
Each team-builder knows exactly m what position his 
club is weak, and under the close classification in the 
modern game he is not compelled to look over the en- 
tire field for his man. If he needs a second baseman he 
seeks through that class instead of among "infielders." 

Yet some of the biggest baseball "finds" of years 
have resulted from the fact that managers knew better 
than men themselves where their proper positions were. 
In many instances men taken from one position and 
placed in another immediately showed remarkable im- 
provement. Frank Chance, the "Peerless Leader" of 
the Chicago Cubs, was a catcher. He declared he could 
not play first base and refused to play there, threatening 
to retire from baseball when Manager Selee ordered 
him to that position. Even then he balked until Selee 
offered him an increased salary, when he reluctantly 
consented to make the attempt. Roger Bresnahan im- 
agined he was a pitcher, tried the infield, failed at both 



40 TOUCHING SECOND 

places, but then developed into onie of the greatest of 
catchers. Fred Parent, after a brilliant career as a 
short stop and a fair showing as a second baseman, late 
in his career discovered that he was a better player in 
the outfield than in the infield. Joe Tinker refused to 
play short stop, insisting that he was a third baseman, 
and was persuaded with dif^culty to try the position at 
which he became famous. 

Sometimes this specialization by players is imagin- 
ation on the part of players who fail to study their own 
physical shortcomings and advantages in order to fit 
themselves into the proper place. A third baseman, 
for instance, does not need the speed required to play 
short stop, but he must have weight, be able to start 
forward quickly, and have the strength and the cour- 
age to block hard line drives. Besides these things he 
must be able to throw either underhand or overhand 
ball, and be a hard, fast thrower. 

A short stop must be able to move toward his right 
rapidly, start forward quickly, and at the same time 
must be able to move to his left, toward or back of 
second base, and recover quickly after making stops in 
a necessarily awkward position. Above all things, he 
must be able to throw either underhead or overhead 
from any position. An example of the possibilities 
in short stop acrobatics was a play made by Doolan 
of Philadelphia, who while in the act of throwing to 
first base spiked in the neck a base runner en route from 
second to third. He must have thrown with both feet 
pfi the gfround, 



THE PLAYERS 41 

The second baseman must have a fast snap throw 
from any position, especially an underhand snap throw 
while scooping slow balls at top speed, and he must be 
able to move faster toward his left than to the right. 
The outfielders specialize in regard to their ability to 
come in or go out, and whether they run faster to the 
right or to the left, the center fielder always being the 
best of the three in going outward and catching balls 
over his head. 

The needs of each position are treated later in detail, 
in studying the pecuHarities of the duties of each part of 
the machine. 

Baseball players of the major leagues now are an 
intelligent, clean, set of men ; this of necessity, regard- 
less of their moral scruples. They are being recruited 
from higher levels of social and educational develop- 
ment and they occupy a position unique in sports. They 
are professionals, yet are received and regarded as 
higher amateurs. The player who reaches the major 
leagues has reached the post-graduate course of a moral 
and physical training school and proved his worth. He 
is the surviving fittest of the game. A few unfit sur- 
vive, but not for long. Ball playing, as a profession, 
is now regarded as an honorable means of livelihood 
and a field for profitable use of talents. 



CHAPTER III 

BASEBALL LAW 

Understand in the first place that baseball "law'* is 
illegal, contrary to civil law, in direct violation of the 
Federal laws regulating combines and the blacklist, and 
in principle, directly in defiance of the Constitution and 
of the Rights of Man. Yet, because of the nature of 
the peculiar business, the greater part of baseball law is 
necessary. 

Having accumulated at great expense and enormous 
labor a baseball team capable of winning, and upon 
which depends the value of large investments in land 
and structures, the owner of a club is entitled to some 
protection. And from the first it has been the prin- 
ciple of all baseball organizations that there shall never 
be an appeal to civil law. No contract, drawn in the 
form adopted in organized baseball, will hold in civil 
law. The owners of clubs playing under the National 
Agreement openly bind themselves to the policy of 
blacklisting offending players and depriving them by 
written conspiracy from their means of making a liveli- 
hood. They enforce their claims of absolute ownership 
of the services of players by an iron-clad agreement 
never to employ any player who in any way offends 
against the other parties to the agreement and compel 

43 



BASEBALL LAW 43 

the players to sign contracts which, in theory and effect, 
are hfe contracts and are unconstitutional. 

These facts are indisputable and admitted. Base- 
ball club owners and officials have placed themselves 
beyond civil law by agreement; have pledged them- 
selves not to appeal to the courts, and to punish anyone 
who makes such appeal. They justify this action on 
the grounds of the peculiar nature of the business. 

The professional baseball player, having once signed 
his name to the contract offered by any club, becomes 
the perpetual property and asset of that club until sold, 
released on ten days notice, traded into the bondage of 
another club, or drafted by a club of higher class. He 
may be sent to any club, regardless of his own wishes 
and welfare, may be fined, suspended or blacklisted for 
a term of years or for life. He has no voice in his own 
career beyond ineffectual protest, and should he attempt 
to appeal to civil law it is hardly possible any club 
owner would dare employ him, as by so doing the club 
owner would forfeit his rights to protection and to 
territory. 

Whether or not baseball law is a necessity to the wel- 
fare and safe conduct of the game is scarcely a question 
for argument here. The greater part of the baseball 
code was adopted because of necessities arising from 
situations involving property rights. Baseball is a 
peculiar business, and because of its peculiarities the 
club owners and the officers of leagues claim their laws 
are necessary. 



44 TOUCHING SECOND 

If the owners of newspapers throughout the United 
States were to adopt a separate code of laws and at- 
tempt to enforce a "reserve" contract, which compelled 
writers to sign another contract at the expiration of the 
existing one, the agreement would be smashed in a day. 
If the theatrical trust should attempt to reserve all act- 
ors, the contracts would be worthless. The necessity 
for the reserve clause among baseball players is great ; 
the combination between owners is much closer than in 
any other business in America and perfectly effective. 
In baseball a reserve clause enables club owners to hold 
together a team, prevents competitive bidding for the 
services of extraordinary players, enables owners to 
enforce, in many leagues, a strict salary limit. Without 
the reserve clause it is doubtful if any twenty players 
could be held together long enough to create a strong, 
coherent team, with perfect team work. Without the 
reserve, and the illegal agreements between owners, 
some players would receive high salaries for a few 
years, possibly bankrupt some clubs without much im- 
proving their playing strength, destroy the power of 
owners and managers to discipline players, and, for a 
times at least, weak clubs would be weakened and strong 
ones strengthened. 

The question is whether contracts for a term of years 
would not accomplish the same ends. Undoubtedly a 
sudden change of the system of government would be 
followed by a period of destructive bidding, but many 
think that within a short time the salary and contract 
questions would adjust themselves, the scale of wages 



BASEBALL LAW 45 

being what the business would justify, and the players 
be certain of greater justice. 

The theory upon which baseball's legal code was 
framed was the protection of the weak leagues, the re- 
striction of salaries within the means of each league, 
the prevention of contract jumping and violation of 
agreements by players. Many of the most iniquitous 
laws in force resulted from defensive action by the 
owners to prevent the repetition of disgraceful acts by 
players. 

Legally, the baseball player is a slave held in bond- 
age, but he is the best treated, most pampered slave of 
history, and while there are many cases of oppression, 
the majority of the players received just and equitable 
treatment. 

As far as baseball law has been honestly and fairly 
administered it has aided greatly in the improvement 
of conditions in the sport, increased its stability as an 
investment, and, in spite of its illegal phases considered 
from a common law standpoint, it has had a beneficent 
effect upon everyone concerned, even upon the average 
player. 

But, as usual in all combines, the rulers of the game 
soon saw that laws framed to protect all could be 
used by some to oppress others ; as an instrument of the 
rich to benefit at the expense of the poor and the weak, 
against players by employers, against small leagues by 
large ones. The only protection existing for players 
is the fear by club owners, with huge sums invested in 
the amusement enterprise, that players, if not treated 



46 TOUCHING SECOND 

well, or if oppressed, will not give their best efforts on 
the playing field. 

Close examination of the records of the supreme 
court of baseball since its establishment in 1903 (no 
reference to the justice of any case being made), re- 
veals the fact that about 82 per cent of cases between 
major and minor leagues have been decided in favor of 
the major leagues, and almost ninety per cent of cases 
involving cases between players and club owners 
have been decided against the players. The ratio of 
decisions favoring the strong against the weak appears 
disproportionate. 

An expert in civil law, taking fifty decisions of the 
National Commission as recorded in their own reports 
and examining them, reported that, in his judgment, 
the National Commission had no jurisdiction in twenty- 
eight, exceeded its powers in nine, made the law fit 
the case in six, while in three the commission decided 
against its own laws, as set forth in the agreement. 
The man who studied the cases knew nothing of base- 
ball except what appeared in the commission's reports, 
and considered the cases from a legal standpoint. 

The vast majority of decisions, however, were ac- 
cepted without question and recorded as final in baseball. 
Players either submitted to the rulings or found other 
employment. 

Few persons outside those engaged in the game un- 
derstand what baseball law is, or how it is administered, 
or how it affects teams and players. Before 1903, 
when the National Agreement was written and ratified 



BASEBALL I,AW 47 

by most of the organized clubs in America, baseball had 
been chaotic because of the war between the National 
and the American Leagues, which after one year of des- 
perate conflict settled down into steady guerilla war- 
fare. The financial standing of almost every club was 
shaken, and with salaries and expenses at the highest 
mark in history, receipts were heavily cut. The own- 
ers, weary of the ruinous strife and compelled to cease 
their efforts to ruin each other for safety's sake, met at 
Cincinnati in September, 1903, and reached the "Na- 
tional Agreement" which is the basis of all baseball law. 
The National and American Leagues and the National 
Association of Minor Leagues ratified the agreement as 
the supreme law of the game, arranged for the estab- 
lishment of a supreme court of baseball to sit en banc 
(or en bunc) on disputes of all kinds, agreeing to ac- 
cept decisions as final. 

This court was called the National Commission, and 
it constitutes perhaps the most extraordinary judicial 
and legislative body in the history of America. It was 
provided that the commission should be composed of 
the presidents of the National and American Leagues, 
and a third man, who was to be chairman and chosen 
by the two presidents. August Herrmann, owner of 
the Cincinnati club and a ring politician of prominence, 
was chosen as chairman. 

Students of political economy possibly would imagine 
that the court was a farce, the principle behind its for- 
mation being laughably in defiance of the accepted 
theories of government. Instead of choosing judges 



48 TOUCHING SECOND 

because of their impartiality, they were chosen because 
of their interest in, and knowledge of cases to be de- 
cided. The consent of the governed was not asked at 
first, though later the minor leagues were asked to enter 
into the agreement ; but the consent of the players, over 
whom the commission was given full and extraordin- 
ary powers, never was requested. The interests of 
forty leagues, perhaps 350 clubs and 8,000 players, were 
thrust into the hands of three men, one an owner, the 
others representing owners. 

Further, this court was empowered not only to hear 
cases and pass judgment, but to enforce punishments, 
collect fines and execute their own decrees. Going fur- 
ther, the commission, a judicial body, was made execu- 
tive and legislative, empowered to pass laws governing 
themselves, the club owners (their employers), and 
players, even to pass laws to decide cases already in 
hand, to pass laws to correct abuses, and to make these 
laws retroactive and punish for offenses committed 
prior to their enactment. In the first year of the ex- 
istence of the court, it went back and punished for 
offenses which were committed, or were alleged to have 
been committed, before the National Agreement was 
signed and the court created. 

This procedure was explained, or excused, as such 
proceedings now are excused, on the plea that the action 
was necessary for "the good of the game." 

The National Commission, while laughable from a 
standpoint of civil law, has proved effective, has safe- 



BASEBALL LAW 49 

guarded the game in many ways, and has corrected 
many evils. 

The National Agreement, which is the constitution 
of baseball, is one of the most remarkable of existing 
legal codes. The first remarkable phase of the con- 
stitution is found in Rule 2^, which provides : "These 
rules may be changed at any time by a majority vote of 
the commission.'' 

That one rule gave the National Commission the 
most absolute power in all cases, without referendum 
even to the club owners, made two men supreme to en- 
act laws to punish all offenses, and to create offenses for 
which punishment might be inflicted. The chief ob- 
jection of players to the high court of the game is that 
they believe too much power has been given to two 
men, both naturally influenced in favor of the em- 
ployers. 

The reservation clause is the vital principle of or- 
ganized baseball. The owners claim baseball could not 
exist without it, while the thinking players insist that 
long term contracts, safeguarding the interests of both 
parties, would accomplish just as much. 

The general public does not understand the system 
on which the baseball business is built. The agreement 
between the club owners of all leagues provided for 
classification of the leagues, each of which was to re- 
main separate and independent, making its own rules 
except in cases w'here power was claimed for the central 
government. The National and American Leagues 
were rated as the major leagues, the Eastern and Amer- 



50 TOUCHING SECOND 

ican Association as secondary major leagues, and the 
others were divided into classes A, B, C, and D, with 
provisions for even lower ratings if necessary. 

Each league is allotted a fixed value per head on its 
players, and an annual period is fixed during which any 
league of an higher class is privileged to draft players, 
to a certain number, from clubs of a lower class league 
by paying the fixed sum. 

The National and American Leagues may draw upon 
any league for any player, and take him upon payment 
of the sum fixed as the per capita value of players of 
that class. If the clubs fail to draft the player during 
the stated drafting period, he must be acquired by pur- 
chase. In theory, this classification was made to pro- 
tect the smaller leagues from being disrupted by drafts 
upon them by the major leagues. During its workings 
it has done much injustice to some clubs of the lower 
class, but on the whole, the smaller leagues have prof- 
ited greatly at the expense of the richer clubs because 
of the over-eagerness of the large club owners to obtain 
players. The vast majority of players drafted or pur- 
chased from the smaller clubs are sent back after brief 
trials in the major leagues, usually for smaller sums 
than those paid, so the minor leagues have little cause 
for complaint against the direct workings of the draft- 
ing laws. The evils are found, not in the rules, but in 
the evasion and the abuse of them generally indulged in. 

Both the larger and smaller leagues have taken ad- 
vantage of flaws in the arrangement. The principal 
abuses of the system have been by major leagues taking 



BASEBALL LAW 51 

players from lower class leagues, not for themselves 
but for other clubs of lower rank with which secret 
agreements have been made. The injustice to the play- 
ers is apparent in all such arrangements. The draft- 
ing laws give the player no voice in his own career. 
Not only must he go where he is ordered, but must 
accept whatever salary is offered him by the club which 
drafts him. The growing practice of the larger leagues 
in offering recruits smaller salaries than they were paid 
in the minor leagues is another fertile cause for com- 
plaint. 

Each league is empowered to regulate its own affairs 
— and further, to fix salary limits. Nearly all the low 
class leagues have written agreements limiting the 
amount that may be paid in salaries per month to play- 
ers. On thei'r face, agreements such as these would 
seem an intolerable injustice to players, but as a matter 
of fact, little cause of complaint is given the players, 
as usually eight clubs in each league violate the agree- 
ment almost as soon as signing it. 

The strength of the organization that rules the play- 
ers and clubs was tested within a short time after the 
adoption of the National Agreement when players, re- 
bellious at heart, commenced to demand non-reserve 
contracts as the price of signing any contract. Many 
players proposed to sign the regulation contract for a 
term of years provided they were not reserved and were 
made free agents at the end of the contractual period. 
The commission ordered all clubs to sign players under 
nothing but the approved form of contract, containing 



52 TOUCHING SECOND 

the reserve clause. Players who were in demand still 
insisted upon non-reserve contracts and many received 
contracts with the reserve clause stricken out. The 
result in many cases was peculiar, for at the end of the 
contract term the player discovered that instead of being 
free, he still was under reserve. The commission had 
made a law. which said : 

"Where the contract contains a reservation clause, 
the player shall in no instance be held to be free from 
reservation unless the clause is stricken from the con- 
tract." 

The players then discovered that, instead of striking 
out the clause, the club owners had presented them with 
contracts in which there was no printed reserve clause 
and that the law of baseball says : 

"Where the contract does not contain a reservation 
clause, every club, nevertheless, has a right to reserve a 
player unless the contract itself contains a written stip- 
ulation that the player is not to be reserved." 

Some players discovered they had been reserved by 
a trick which in any other business would be held as 
fraudulent, and that he still was a chattel of the club 
which, he thought, had agreed to set him. free. And 
there were no Ohio River cakes of ice over which he 
could escape. 

The administration of baseball law is peculiar. 
There are several cases recorded in which players, who 
accept terms, report, and play even one game with clubs, 
then refuse to sign the contracts offered, become the 
property of that club, subject to perpetual reservation. 



BASEBALL LAW 53 

Nor in baseball law is it necessary even for a player 
to sign a contract, or enter into any agreement to be- 
come an asset of a club. In the case of A. A. O'Brien, 
of the Ilion, N. Y., club, the supreme court of baseball 
ruled on the subject. O'Brien played with Ilion, but 
refused to accept any contract and, after playing for a 
time, left the club to attend to more profitable business. 
In spite of that fact, Ilion placed him under reservation, 
and accepted the draft price from the Philadelphia 
Athletics in payment for the player. The National 
Commission decided O'Brien belonged to Ilion, that 
Ph'^adelphia had the right to draft him, and barred 
O'Brien from any voice in the matter. 

In no case, as far as the records show, has the ques- 
tion of the justice or injustice of the salary offered been 
taken into consideration by the court in deciding cases. 
The club itself is made sole judge of salaries, and that 
ha opened the way to injustice. In several recorded 
cases players have been offered less than half the sala- 
ries paid them the previous year. There was one major 
league pitcher who received $3,500 a season. In a 
game he hit the manager of another club three times 
with pitched balls, finally injuring him severely. The 
manager accused him of hitting him purposely. Two 
years later the manager traded for the pitcher, offered 
him a salary of $1,500, explaining that he was getting 
revenge, and drove the man out of baseball. 

Only the bitter rivalry between club owners, and the 
desire to satisfy players and keep them satisfied in order 
that they will do their best work, prevents wholesale 



54 TOUCHING SECOND 

horizontal decreases of salaries in the major leagues, 
where the combination is most powerful. 

The players do not oppose baseball law, regarding 
some final court as necessary to the welfare of the game. 
It is the frequent abuse of the power and its use to 
oppress that foments the rebellious spirit among the 
players. ' One constant source of friction is the rule 
governing reporting for spring training. Many play- 
ers have other business interests and object to spending 
six weeks training, without pay, when the time might 
be profitably occupied. Their contracts require them 
to report at a stipulated time before their salaries begin, 
and special laws provide heavy fines for failure to do 
so. Recently laws have been enacted by the commis- 
sion to prevent players from engaging in games out of 
season, the club owners desiring to retain absolute con- 
trol over players for the twelve months of the year. 

The complaint of the players is not so much against 
baseball law itself as against the manner in which it is 
administered, and against the custom of not allowing 
the defendant player an opportunity to present his side 
of the case either to the president of his own league or 
to the National Commission. The player who has failed 
to report to his club in the spring or violated (perhaps 
technically) some fractional part of his contract, finds 
himself in trouble. His case is taken up behind closed 
doors by the National Commission and he is fined with- 
out a chance being given him to present a defense, or 
to ofTer an explanation. A club owner, who is called 
before the court, is told to prepare a defense against the 
charge which has been made against him. Frequently 



BASEBALL LAW 55 

the Commission, or one member of it, states weeks in ad- 
vance of a hearing what the decision will be, and that 
before consulting other members of the commission. 

The demand of the players is for an impartial court 
of three or five men not vitally interested in baseball, 
men who have no baseball connections, especially no 
financial ones. The players desire that this court shall 
codify and print all existing laws, and submit them to 
all members of the agreement for ratification. Finally, 
they demand that the court shall sit openly at stated in- 
tervals to hear causes, and take the evidence on both 
sides. 



CHAPTER IV 

CREATING A WINNING TEAM 

Creating a championship baseball team is a question 
of luck, patience, brains and money, with patience and 
luck the principal elements making toward success. 
Critics of weak teams complain always, "Why don't 
they buy some ball players ?" Nothing more suggestive 
of ignorance of the game and conditions prevailing was 
ever voiced than that wail. The scarcity of players was 
explained in a preceding chapter, yet that is only a 
portion of the difficulty of the man upon whom it de- 
volves to make a team. 

Baseball players are not for sale. No really good 
player ever is sold unless behind the sale are reasons 
well known to the seller. If a good man is placed in 
the market something is wrong. Either the player is 
dissatisfied, has had troubles with other players, has 
taken to drink or has developed some ailment or weak- 
ness. Investigation of every case of sales by major 
league clubs will reveal some such cause. 

Often clubs will trade one good player for another 
because they are over-supplied in one department and 
weak in another, or because they believe another man 
will fit into the team better ; but money will not, alone, 
make a team. Experience seems to show that a mana- 
ger may best strengthen his team when by knowledge 
of the inside conditions existing on the other clubs — 

56 



CREATING A WINNING TEAM 57 

learning which men are dissatisfied, or have quarreled 
with their managers or team mates, have a grievance 
or a " grouch" — he may make advantageous purchases 
or trades. Players worthless to one club often prove 
valuable to another. Practically every winning major 
league club of recent history has been made in that way 
from the discards of weaker clubs. 

In spite of the optimistic announcements early each 
season few managers believe their teams will win pen- 
nants. Most of them are content to improve a few^ 
positions, and continue to improve each year up to a 
stage of development which justifies straining every 
nerve to win highest honors. The team that finishes 
sixth one year, fifth the next and third the next may be 
expected to make a strong fight for the championship, 
but it is seldom that more than three clubs have any real 
hope of winning. 

Usually ten years, frequently more, are required to 
create a pennant-winning team and it is of pennant-win- 
nmg caliber not more than three years before it begins 
to retrogade. Occasionally after reaching its highest 
form a team collapses entirely in one season and the 
work must be begun all over again. The New York 
Highlanders, after coming within a game of the chsm- 
pionship, collapsed the following season to nothingness. 
The St. Louis Browns, with strong pennant possibili- 
ties, fell two games short of the 1908 American League 
championship and the following year was the most 
wretched team in either major league. 

No team of young players ever has won a major 



58 TOUCHING SECOND 

league pennant, although Boston and Philadelphia in 
1909 came near upsetting baseball tradition in that 
respect. 

Teams are built on various theories. Comiskey, 
who has led more pennant-winning teams than any- 
other man, works on the theory that pitchers and con- 
dition will win. His teams always are kept in top con- 
dition throughout the season and he will go to any 
lengths to get "air tig^t" pitchers. Detroit and Pitts- 
burg both are teams built with the idea of hitting power 
first. The Chicago Cubs are built on the theory of 
team work, inside play and base running. The Boston 
American team is an aggregation accumulated with the 
idea that speed of foot will capture pennants. The 
solid foundation of a good and lasting team is rather 
along the average in hitting, base running, fielding and 
pitching and the highest possible development of team 
work. Harmony, united effort, brains and condition 
will win over speed, individual brilliancy and heavy 
hitting. 

The first problem of the owner of a franchise is to 
get a leader, for without leaders who can get the best 
work out of every man, teams cannot win. The next 
is to get the team, then team work, and having all these 
there remains nothing to do but to pray for luck and 
good umpiring. 

Teams have been thrown together that fitted per- 
fectly. Pittsburg closed the season of 1908 needing a 
second baseman, a first baseman, either a third baseman 
or a center fielder, and pitchers. Jay Miller developed 



CREATING A WINNING TEAM 59 

into a sensational second baseman and two minor 
leaguers, Abstein and Barbeau, played like stars for 
more than half the year. Barbeau was first to explode, 
but his place immediately was filled by Byrne, and Pitts- 
burg won a lucky pennant. It was the first team in 
baseball history to win after starting to ''go back." 
The three veterans of the team, Clarke, Leach, and 
Wagner, each played the greatest game of their careers. 
Philadelphia, in the National League, has not won the 
pennant since 1871. Cincinnati never has won the 
championship. Chicago, which monopolized baseball 
in the early eighties, was twenty years getting together 
another pennant-winning team. Perhaps the best way 
to show how hard it is to get together a championship 
team is to take some one club and relate its struggles 
before final triumph. 

■ The sale of Clarkson and Kelley to Boston destroyed 
Anson's championship club. The cause of that sale 
never was made public, but the real reason was a 
woman, and the club was compelled to sell the men, 
although the act brought down the wrath of the city 
upon them. The remnant of the team fell into a rut. 
When James A. Hart became president he saw that the 
first step necessary was to get rid of all the old stars — 
even Anson — and begin making a new team. He could 
not get rid of Anson until 1898, when he brought back 
Tom Burns, who proved a failure in two years. Tom 
Loftus was tried for two years — and failed. Frank 
Selee, adopting Hart's ideas, began at the bottom to 
create an entirely new club. It is extremel}^ doubtful 



60 TOUCHING SECOND 

whether Selee ever would have made the team a pen- 
nant-winner, on account of prejudices against certain 
players. Selee's health failed and Charles W. Murphy, 
who had just purchased the club, discovered a leader. 

The real beginning of the Chicago Cubs was in 
March, 1898, when a big, bow-legged, rather awkward 
young player come from the Pacific coast to be tried as 
a catcher. Quiet, good-natured, rather retiring off the 
field, serious, and in deadly earnest while playing, hon- 
est and sincere in everything, Frank Leroy Chance re- 
ported at training quarters at West Baden, Ind., carry- 
ing a bunch of gnarled and wrecked fingers at the end 
of each hand. Anyone who at that time had pre- 
dicted that Chance was to become the leader of the 
greatest club ever organized would have earned a laugh. 
He had no experience except the little gained in am- 
ateur games in California. He played with the Fresno 
High School team in 1893, for two years with Wash- 
ington University at Irvington, Cal., and he partici- 
pated in the great amateur tournament played between 
all the school teams of California, catching for Fresno, 
which team finished close to Oakland and Stockton. 
Bill Lange, then with the Chicago club, saw Chance and 
recommended him for trial. 

While awkward and unfinished, pitchers who worked 
with him declare that Chance from the first showed 
his genius for leadership and great skill in handling 
pitchers and watching batters. H'is fearless reckless- 
ness brought him many injuries as a catcher and twice 
he was nearly killed. 



CREATING A WINNING TEAM 61 

There was not much sign of promise of a champion- 
ship team in Chicago then, for Hart, in spite of his 
theories, still had his old stars; and it was not until 
1900 that the club, with all its scouts, its purchases and 
trades, made another rich strike. This lucky find was 
John Kling, who was born knowing baseball in Kansas 
City. He was manager, pitcher and first batter of the 
Schmeltzers from 1893 to 1895, when he went to Rock- 
ford, 111., as a catcher and lasted one pay day, being 
released as a failure. Returning to Kansas City, he 
led the Schmeltzers three more years. In 1898 he 
joined Houston, Tex., under the name of Klein, and 
quit because the team would not pay him his salary. 
He again caught for the Schmeltzers until 1900, when 
he went to St. Joseph, Mo. 

Ted Sullivan, the veteran scout, went on a secret visit 
to St. Joseph to buy Sam Strang, later of Chicago and 
New York, and was so impressed with Kling that he 
also was purchased, Chicago securing the greatest 
catcher the game ever has known. 

The season of 1901 passed without permanent im- 
provement of the club, which was disrupted by the war 
between the American and National Leagues. A host 
of players were purchased, but not one was of cham- 
pionship caliber ; and it was not until the coming of Selee 
that the prospects of a winning team brightened. Selee 
and Hart reached an agreement as to the management 
in the fall of 1901, and Selee immediately laid plans to 
strengthen Chicago. His first step was a bit of strategy 



62 TOUCHING SECOND 

to secure Slagle, who was wanted to lead the batting 
list. 

Slagle was a quiet, cool, left-handed batter with much 
patience and judgment. His career in baseball had 
been full of vicissitudes. He started playing with 
Clarion, Pa., in 1889, and afterward went to Ohio 
Wesleyan University at Delaware, where he played the 
outfield two seasons. In 1894 he signed with Franklin, 
in the Iron and Oil League, then played with Omaha 
for one season; next went to Houston, Tex., where a 
scout discovered him and took him to Boston in the fall 
of 1896. Boston banished him to Grand Rapids, from 
which place he went to Kansas City. Pittsburg bought 
him, but before he played there he was traded to Wash- 
ington, and when the National League was reduced to 
eight clubs in 1898 Slagle was sent to Philadelphia, 
where, in the greatest aggregation of batters ever or- 
ganized, the little fellow led the list. He was sold to 
Boston in 1901 and near the end of the season broke 
a finger. Selee, having a scheme, sold him to Balti- 
more. The release to Baltimore was part of the plot 
to get him to Chicago, for as soon as Selee became 
manager of Chicago he brought Slagle back. 

That same spring Selee found the man to stop the 
gap at short stop which had existed for years. The 
man was Joe Tinker, who began playing ball with the 
John Taylors in Kansas City in 1896. He was so 
good even then that the next year Hagen's Tailors paid 
$2 for him, and he helped that team win the city cham- 
pionship in 1898. Then he went to the Bruce Lum- 



CREATING A WINNING TEAM 63 

bers, with which team he met and conquered KHng's 
Schmeltzers. The next season KHng traded two uni- 
forms and a bat for Tinker and brought him to the 
Schmeltzers, but in June he went to Parsons, Kans., and 
later in the summer to Coffeyville. Denver purchased 
him and tried him at second base, but he was so bad that 
he was sold quickly to John McCloskey, who was man- 
aging the Great Falls team. It happened that Great 
Falls was in financial straits, and needing money, Mc- 
Closkey sold Tinker to Helena for $200 and Joe Mar- 
shall, saving the team and the league from bankruptcy. 
He was taken to Portland, Ore., in 190 1, by Jack Grim. 
Playing third base, he helped win the pennant of the 
Northwest League. He played so well that scouts for 
both Cincinnati and Chicago bid for him. Jack Mc- 
Carthy, who had been illtreated by Cincinnati, advised 
Tinker to try Chicago and he joined the team as a third 
baseman. Selee insisted upon making a short stop of 
him, and after a long dispute Tinker agreed to try — 
and became one of the greatest in the league. 

Perhaps the greatest luck the Chicago club ever had 
was in forming an alliance with George Huff, athletic 
director of the University of Illinois, for the associa- 
tion of Huff with the club as scout marked an era in 
the making of the championship team. Huff's first con- 
tribution to the team was Carl Lundgren, the Univer- 
sity of Illinois pitcher who had twice won the Intercol- 
legiate championship for the school. Lundgren was 
quiet, studious and the "Human Icicle," one of the most 
careful observers of batters ever found. He was of 



64 TOUCHING SECOND 

the type that studies three aces and a pair of tens for 
two minutes before calHng — and studies a pair of 
deuces just as hard. When he calls, he wins, and he 
pitched wonderful ball for Chicago. 

(The following is by Fullerton.) 
Late that same season Lowe, the famous second base- 
man, injured his leg and the team was left without any 
man for the place. A scout was in Troy, N. Y., to get 
iHardy, a pitcher, and in despair Selee wired him to 
get a second baseman, and forward him C. O. D. 
When the scout returned bringing John J. Evers almost 
everyone laughed. Evers was then not nineteen years 
of age. No one suspected that he was destined to be- 
come the greatest second baseman that ever lived and 
the foremost exponent and developer of the "inside 
game," for neither his appearance nor his experience in- 
dicated any great promise. He began playing ball 
when eight years of age, with the Cheer Ups at Troy. 
After playing on school and amateur teams, he was 
signed, in 1902, to play short stop for Troy, the oppor- 
tunity with Chicago coming before he had played a sea- 
son in the minor league. 

All there is to Evers is a bundle of nerves, a lot of 
woven wire muscles, and the quickest brain in baseball. 
He has invented and thought out more plays than any 
man of recent years. He went to second base to fill 
Lowe's place the first day he reached Chicago, played 
twenty-two games to the end of the season without an 
error, and became the baseball idol of Chicago. 
(Evers wanted that left out.) 



CREATING A WINNING TEAM 65 

Prospects for getting a winning team improved, but 
luck deserted Selee's banner in 1903. However, a 
change was made which was of as much importance, 
possibly more, than anything before or since. Selee 
persuaded Chance after long resistance to play first base 
and transformed him into a great first baseman. 

With Chance, Evers and Tinker in position, the team 
began to be formidable, but Seelee was sick, and really 
unable to perform the duties of manager. His sickness 
forced him to rely more and more upon the judgment 
of Chance, who suddenly developed a genius for hand- 
ling men. Lowe was out of the game and a captain 
was needed. Selee decided to try something unheard 
of; to submit the election of a captain to the vote of 
the players themselves. There were three candidates, 
none especially active. Selee's choice was Casey ; Kling 
and Chance both had admirers among the men. The 
election was held in the club house, Selee actively exert- 
ing his influence for Casey, while some of the players 
were urging Chance as the veteran of the squad. The 
result of the vote was Chance, 1 1 ; Casey, 4 ; Kling, 2. 
Selee was dumbfounded and for a time annoyed, but 
events proved the players had made the wisest selection 
and the vote was the turning point in the career of 
Chance and in the development of the club. 

Chance, although only advisor to Selee, at once as- 
sumed the task of building up the team. He seemed to 
know just what men he wanted, and how to get them, 
as well as the weaknesses of his own team. His first 
move was to get Mordecai Brown. The Omaha man- 



66 TOUCHING SECOND 

agement, desiring to keep Brown, told Selee his arm 
was bad, but Chance dedined to beHeve it. Chance 
had been watching Brown and wanted him, but was 
overruled and St. Louis filed prior claim and secured 
him — but only temporarily. Chance was persistent, 
and when Jack Taylor fell into disgrace after the loss 
of the city championship, a deal was arranged whereby 
Taylor and McLean were given to St. Louis for Brown, 
who had not pitched well there. 

Late that same season Scout Huff discovered three 
more men of championship caliber. The story of Huff's 
work that season reads like a Sherlock Holmes adven- 
ture, especially the tale of his pursuit of three ghostly 
pitchers. The story properly begins three years earlier, 
when Ed Reulbach, a giant youngster, was pitching for 
Notre Dame, Indiana, University. Reulbach 'is as near 
a physically perfect man as possible. Huff had seen his 
terrific speed and wonderful curves in college games 
and set watch on him. The next year, while beating 
the underbrush for young players. Huff began to re- 
ceive reports from Sedalia, Mo., of a pitcher named 
Lawson and finally went there to see him pitch. The 
day before he reached Sedalia, Lawson disappeared, 
leaving no trace or clue. Huff wanted a pitcher, needed 
him, and hurried to find Reulbach, but imagine his sur- 
prise when, immediately after the close of school, Reul- 
bach disappeared as utterly as Law^son had done, leav- 
ing no trace. 

Then Huff began to receive reports from Montpelier, 
Vermont, of a young pitcher who was winning every- 



CREATING A WINNING TEAM 67 

thing in the Green Mountain League and whose 
name was Sheldon. Huff disguised himself as an alder- 
man and went to Montpelier to see the new prodigy per- 
form. The mystery was solved — Sheldon, Lawson 
and Reulbach all were pitching and they were one man ; 
all Reulbach under assorted names. Huff straightened 
out the tangle and returned to Chicago with one of the 
greatest modern pitchers. 

Hart had heard that McChesney of Des Moines was 
worth having and sent Huff to observe. Huff reported 
McChesney only a fair ball player, but that Hofman, 
short stop, was one of the greatest players in the coun- 
try. Both were purchased and Chicago thus acciden- 
tally secured the best utility man of moderh times. 
Hofman played every infield and outfield position for 
Chicago during three pennant-winning seasons, being 
so good a substitute that Chance could not afford to use 
him as a regular until 1909 w^hen he went to center 
field. Two seasons he saved the pennant for Chicago 
by understudying every man on the team who was in- 
jured, playing almost to the standard of every man he 
replaced. In one week he played six positions on the 
infield and outfield. 

Hofman came into baseball from the amateurs of St, 
Louis. He played with Smith Academy team for a 
time, then with semi-professional teams in St. Louis 
and finally got into the Trolley League, where he be- 
came a contract jumper. His contract with East St. 
Louis guaranteed him $8 a game when weather condi- 
tions permitted play. One day the sun was shining, the 



68 TOUCHING SECOND 

weather warm, and everything favorable, but the Mis- 
sissippi River had risen and flooded the grounds. Hof- 
man contended that weather did not prevent the game 
and claimed his money. The management refused to 
pay and Hofman jumped to Belleville, where Barney 
Drey fuss found him in 1903, and took him to Pitts- 
burg, but immediately released him to Des Moines 
where Huff discovered him. 

Huff made one more important discovery that sea- 
son. McCarthy's legs were giving way, and an out- 
fielder was needed. Huff went to Syracuse to see 
Magee. He telegraphed Selee to get Schulte, a quiet, 
droll York state boy, and Mike Mitchell. Both were 
secured, but Chicago offered Mitchell less money than 
he was getting at Syracuse. He was forced to accept 
the offer, but openly stated he would not give his best 
efforts to the club, and so was lost to Chicago, Cincin- 
nati securing a great player. Schulte quickly devel- 
oped into one of the best players in the National 
League. 

If anyone could have found Schulte up to 1898 a 
more detailed map would be needed. He was born in 
Cochocton, New York, and started playing ball with 
Glen Aubrey. From there he went to Poseyville, from 
Poseyville to Poseytuck, to Hickory Grove, to Bloss- 
burg, and finally in 1897 got upon the edge of the map 
at Waverly, playing there two years. Then he went 
to Lestershire, and reached Syracuse in 1902. 

Schulte proved to be the man needed. In him Chance 
had found one of the rarest baseball treasures, a "third 



CREATING A WINNING TEAM 69 

batter." The third batter in any team is the most im- 
portant. He must hit long flies, hit hard, bunt and 
run, because ahead of him in a well constructed team 
are two batters who are on the team for their ability to 
"get on," and the third man must be able either to 
move them up or hit them home. 

The team, after eighteen years of effort, was grow- 
ing strong, but not steady. It fought hard for the pen- 
nant in 1905, but was beaten. Chicago at last had a 
contender in the pennant race. Selee was sick, and he 
did things he would not have done had. he been well. 
Having a team almost complete, he was kept from 
wrecking it only by Chance. Selee wanted to release 
Slagle ; he wanted to let Evers go ; he was so anxious to 
get rid of Hofman that he refused to permit him to 
practice on the diamond with the other players. In 
the middle of the season Selee's illness forced him to 
surrender and Chance was chosen as manager. The 
big, awkward youngster who had joined the team at 
West Baden seven years earlier, suddenly showed him- 
self a great baseball leader. The day he took charge of 
the team he said: "We need pitchers, we must have 
a new third baseman, and a hitting outfielder before 
we can win the pennant." 

Casey was playing a fair third base and Maloney was 
a sensational, if erratic, outfielder, and was the idol of 
the crowd. That winter the team was sold by Hart, 
who had spent so many years trying to create a win- 
ner, to C. Webb Murphy, who gave Chance absolute 
power as far as playing and getting players was con- 
cerned. 



70 TOUCHING SECOND 

Chance knew the men he wanted. He wanted four ; 
and three of them he got. To get the first one he made 
one of the most spectacular deals ever recorded in 
baseball history. This man was James Sheckard, a 
brilliant, clever and much wanted outfielder who had 
disturbed the Brooklyn club by playing hop scotch with 
the American League during the war. Here the gos- 
sip of the club proved valuable. Sheckard was dissat- 
isfied with Brooklyn, and Chance knew it. The Brook- 
lyn management did not think Sheckard was giving his 
best services, but feared to trade a man who was popu- 
lar with the spectators. The trade Chance made to get 
Sheckard stunned Chicago followers of the game. He 
gave Outfielders McCarthy and Maloney, Third Base- 
man Casey and Pitcher Briggs, with $2,000 added. 
Chance was satisfied. His outfield was complete at 
last. He swung Schulte to right field, his natural po- 
sition, put Sheckard in left, and with Slagle in center 
regarded the work as finished. 

Chance realized third base must be filled or his pen- 
nant hopes would filter away at that corner. He knew 
the man he wanted, Harry Steinfeldt, who was playing 
indifferent ball with Cincinnati. He was slow, a heavy 
hitter, a good fielder and a wonderful thrower. Again 
inside gossip directed Chance to a man while older man- 
agers, not closely in touch with players, listened to 
other stories. Chance knew Steinfeldt, had played 
with him two winters, in California, and knew also 
that internal dissentions were causing the trouble in 
the Cincinnati ranks. The Cincinnati club was anxious 



CREATING A WINNING TEAM 71 

to trade Steinfeldt, but gossip among his enemies in 
Cincinnati had kept other clubs from bidding for the 
player. Chance asked Murphy to make a trade. Mur- 
phy went to Cincinnati, but the stories whispered to 
him sent him flying back to Chicago without the player. 
A few days later Murphy asked Chance : "What third 
baseman can we get?" 

"Steinfeldt," said Chance. 

Murphy argued, but went to Cincinnati and again 
returned without the player, but with even more start- 
ling stories to tell Chance. "Who shall we get?" he 
asked. 

"Steinfeldt," replied Chance, unmoved. 

So Murphy, still unconvinced, went to Cincinnati 
and traded Weimer, a left-handed pitcher for Stein- 
feldt. 

The team was complete at last. The day Steinfeldt 
signed Chance remarked that if he could add a little 
pitching strength the team would win the pennant. 

Huff was sent in frantic search of the additional 
pitching strength and recommended Jack Pfiester, a big 
left-hander who, after a career extending all over 
America, was pitching well for Omaha ; well and often. 
Pfiester had a non-reserve contract with Omaha, so 
he owned himself, and when Huff and Chance tried 
to get him they dealt with him direct and purchased 
him for $2,500. Still Chance was not content. He 
wanted another strong catcher to assist Kling and he 
traded for Pat Moran, who had for five years hit well 
and caught steady ball for Boston. Then he profited 



72 TOUCHING SECOND 

again by his knowledge of players and the inside gossip 
of teams. He knew Overall was a fine pitcher, and 
he knew that the reason Overall was not pitching well 
for Cincinnati was that he was being overworked and 
was weak. Chance had played with Overall in Cali- 
fornia, had attempted to buy him from Tacoma, when 
Cincinnati secured him, and had kept constant watch 
on the giant young pitcher. He knew better than Man- 
ager Hanlon of Cincinnati how to handle the man — and 
believed he could win. A deal was made — Chance giv- 
ing Wicker for Overall and $2,000, a deal which proved 
the joke of- the season. 

The team was complete ; finished in every detail and 
with the pitching staff working like machinery, it swept 
through the season of 1906 breaking all records, win- 
ning 116 games and losing only 36. Two more years 
it won the National League championship and twice 
the World's Championship, before it was beaten out by 
Pittsburg in 1909. 

The experience of Chicago in making a club is the 
experience of all winning teams ; the details of the find- 
ing; developing, buying and trading show those who 
complain because their home team fails to win, why 
the management cannot follow their advice and "buy 
some good players," 



CHAPTER V 

MANAGERS AND THEIR 
DUTIES 

The laws of baseball, calculated to create dissatisfac- 
tion and ill-feeling among players, require that a buffer 
be erected between the player and the owner which 
shall lessen the friction and entirely separate the ball 
field and the business office of the club. Upon the man- 
ager devolves the duty of persuading players that sal- 
aries and fines are part of business and not associated 
with playing baseball. 

Managers of baseball teams that win are born to com- 
mand men, and they are the rarest products of the 
game. To make a team win a manager must rule with 
a firm hand, lead with a spirit and dash that keeps the 
other members of the club spurred to highest speed; 
deal fairly, win without gloating, die fighting and be 
ready to congratulate his conquerer. He must have 
tact, patience, gameness. The good manager is a gen- 
eral, gifted with the power to rule men as well as to 
lead them in battle, and his duties upon the field are the 
lightest part of his work — the part that has least effect 
upon the result of the pennant race. 

Managers are divided into two distinct classes ; bench 
managers who, if wise, direct and counsel rather than 
order their men; and playing managers who demon- 
strate the plays and lead their men in person. The 

73 



74 TOUCHING SECOND 

former is a general directing the battle from headquar- 
ters in the rear ; the latter a Navarre with white-plumed 
helmet always in the thickest of the fray. The playing 
manager is the more brilliant. When he falls he falls 
harder, although with spectacular effect, while the 
bench manager lasts longer and his successes and fail- 
ures are more likely to be attributed to others. 

As to the respective value of the two classes this 
much can be said: more pennants have been won by 
playing managers in modern baseball than by bench 
managers and, within the last decade, the wisest club 
owners have turned to their playing ranks to find mana- 
gers rather than to employ bench managers of known 
ability and reputation. The bench managers who have 
succeeded, in every instance, have possessed a great field 
general to carry out the orders ; so that really the man 
on the field deserved a share at least of the honors of 
victory. 

Almost every successful field captain who acted un- 
der bench managers later became a successful manager 
on his own account. Ned Hanlon, after a victorious 
career, during which men like Kelley, Jennings, Mc- 
Graw and Wilbur Robinson executed his orders 
and led his men, failed when he had no capable leader 
of the field forces. McAleer, his peer in knowledge of 
the game, Frank Selee, and John McCloskey, for whom 
Long, Lowe, and other great players executed orders, 
failed when their field generals fell. They could direct, 
but needed field generals to lead. Jennings, a great 
leader when a player, succeeded in Detroit because. 



MANAGERS 75 

while in fact a bench manager, he was on the field and 
almost in as close touch with his men as a player could 
be, besides having men of brains and ability as his aides. 

The playing manager is far more effective on the 
field, all other things being equal, but as a permanent 
investment he is more likely to prove a sudden and 
spectacular failure. The moment he reaches the stage 
where he cannot execute and demonstrate the plays he 
commands his men to make, they will turn upon him. 
He may r>^tire to the bench then, but it is a question 
whether a field manager will become a bench manager, 
for the old desire to be in the game and do things him- 
self will handicap him in his work on the bench. Fred 
Clarke, of Pittsburg, and Frank Chance, of Chicago, 
owe their great success to the fact that they can, and 
will, do anything they order their men to do, and have 
the nerve and the courage to go even further than they 
would order another to go. 

Comiskey, perhaps the greatest field general the 
game ever has known, as well as the most successful 
silent manager, is proof in himself that the playing 
manager is the one tljat wins. Comiskey always is the 
guiding spirit of his teams, no matter who the manager 
may be. After retiring from active play, he had the 
good fortune to discover able lieutenants to lead his 
teams and execute his orders, besides thinking for them- 
selves. Each time he has chosen the wrong aide, his 
team has lost ; each time he has found an able man, the 
team has been victorious. After the overwhelming 
defeat of his team for the Championship of Chicago in 
1909 Comiskey remarked quietly: — 



76 TOUCHING SECOND 

"This hurts. They had the better team. What we 
needed was a leader, then we could have beaten them 
even with a poorer team. I have made money in base- 
ball, but I would give everything I have to be able to 
go out there before my people, who are pleading with 
me to win, and lead that team." 

The position of manager of a team in a major league 
is one of the most nerve racking, exhausting and des- 
perate in the calendar of work. Primarily, the man- 
ager is responsible for the creating and assembling of 
the team, in which duty there are hundreds of oppor- 
tunities to make mistakes. He is responsible for the 
condition of the men, both in preparation for the season 
and during the entire playing season. He is responsi- 
ble for the selection of the pitchers every day ; in this 
alone a bad manager could cause a team to drop from 
first to last place in a month. Upon him rests the bur- 
den of deciding what style of attack and defense shall 
be used in any game or in the crises of the game. More 
than that, he is held responsible by the spectators and 
by the press, which is severe, and by the "fans," who 
add cruelty to criticism, for every defeat. 

Ishmael would have felt as if he was the guest of 
honor compared to the manager who with a strong 
"paper" team finishes far down in the race, and Laza- 
rus and Job could not have felt as sore and boiling 
as he. In addition, the manager frequently must either 
endure or suppress criticism and open opposition in his 
own ranks. The day Job's biggest boil broke he must 
have felt exactly as did Tom Burns one afternoon when 
he was managing the Chicago club. 



MANAGERS 77 

"Push it off to right field," he ordered the batter 
who was starting to the plate. 

"Why, you old gray-headed stiff, you hit 212 the 
last season you played," responded the player. 

The crowd which cheers the players has little con- 
ception of the trials and tribulations of the manager 
who, perhaps, crouches unseen and forgotten (by the 
crowd) in the corner of the bench. The public does 
not realize that he is dealing with twenty-two ultra- 
independent athletes, vulgarly healthy, frankly out- 
spoken and unawed by any authority or pomp. Only 
persons who have one child, which possesses four 
grandparents, and twenty or thirty aunts all trying to 
spoil it, can understand in full the difficulties of the 
manager's job. 

Ball players are about as spoiled, unreasonable and 
pampered as a matinee idol, and are worse because 
they are usually young and have not even the saving 
grace of experience to guide them. The average ma- 
jor league player is a youth who has jumped from small 
wages to a comfortable income in a few weeks, from 
the criticism of the home crowd of a few dozen persons 
to the applause and cheers of perhaps twenty thousand 
persons. He is sought after, flattered and pampered. 
He meets men and women of high standing who 
thoughtlessly praise him. The surprising thing is that 
ball players who succeed are not worse spoiled. 

The young ball player has a brilliant day; he is ex- 
alted. He has a bad day, and the excited abuse heaped 
upon him by the crowd burns his sensitive soul. He 



78 TOUCHING SECOND 

becomes cynical and bitter. In a short time he either 
is a "bug" or a "grouch." He has all the day, except a 
short time in the afternoon and perhaps an hour in the 
morning, to exult over his triumphs or mourn over 
his errors and in his bitterness he loses faith both in 
friends and enemies. 

That stage requires several years to wear away. In 
about five seasons the player realizes that the public 
is fickle, that it does not mean its applause any moi'e 
than it means its abuse. He begins to understand that 
in its excitement the crowd is "cussing the cards, not 
the players." Then he generally grows more philo- 
sophical. This does not always happen, however. 
There was one player who, after years of playing, was 
going to desert the Chicago team because one night he 
was assigned to lower berth number five instead of to 
number seven. 

It is small wonder that the major league players 
become spoiled. The hotel arrangements all are made 
for them; their baggage is checked, the train connec- 
tions, berths, and carriages are all arranged for by the 
manager or secretary. The player is told when to go, 
where to go, and how to go and some players after 
years of traveling are almost as helpless as if they 
never had been on a train. On many occasions when 
a player wants to make a journey by himself the man- 
ager is compelled to purchase his tickets, find his train, 
and send him to it in a carriage. There was a player 
with the St, Louis club a few years ago who asked 




*"'^'' 



^ 



"1^-^^ 








Roger Bresnahan, a great catcher and a successful manager. 



MANAGERS 79 

permision of the manager to lay over on Sunday at 
Cincinnati en route from Boston to Philadelphia. 

The trials of a manager with twenty men, the ma- 
jority of them grown children, under his charge, who 
is forced to soothe their injured feelings, condole with 
them in their troubles, cheer them in their blues and 
check them in their exuberance, may better be imag- 
ined than told. 

One evening after Frank Chance had won two 
World's Championships, he sat gloomily silent for a 
long time. The big, hearty, joyous boy who had come 
from California a dozen years before was battered, griz- 
zled, careworn and weary. Still young, his fine face 
showed lines of care and worry and a few gray hairs 
streaked his head. He was thirty-two and looked old. 
For a long time he sat musing. Then he looked up and 
smiled grimly. 

*^This business is making a crab out of me," he re- 
marked. 

Two years of managing a team of recalcitrants 
proved enough to turn Clarke Griffith's hair from black 
to white. Fred Lake said he aged five years in leading 
the Boston American team through five weeks of a 
spring training trip. 

If one could know all the pranks, all the outbreaks 
and troubles of one ball club in one season he would 
wonder that any man responsible for the conduct of 
the team could keep his reason. 

James A. Hart, when managing the old Louisville 
team, had perhaps the worst team from the standpoint of 



80 TOUCHING SECOND 

behavior and disregard of discipline ever gotten to- 
gether. Almost every man on the team either was a 
drunkard or a "bad actor." It was almost laughable 
to hear Hart issuing orders. 

"Ramsey," he would say in the clubhouse, "You 
pitch on Thursday and if you win you can get drunk 
until Sunday, when I'll expect you to be in uniform 
again." 

That was the only way in which he could handle the 
team — and his method worked. Ramsey would take 
his two days off, but he considered it a point of honor 
to report Sunday and he would come to the grounds 
ready for duty. 

What Anson endured from skylarkers such as Tom 
Daly, Elmer Foster, Hernan, Ryan, Mike Kelly, Lange 
and the now sedate Dahlen, only he knows, and he 
mercifully has forgotten much of what they did to 
him. Every new man or reporter, who sojourned with 
the team risked not only limb but life. 

One spring the Chicago team had been disrupting 
Texas and the southwest on the pretense of training 
and reached Kansas City to finish the work of prepara- 
tion for the season. On April i, the day on which 
pay commenced, Anson announced his intention of 
fining any man he caught taking a drink or keeping 
late hours. The players did not fear Anson but they 
knew him well enough to realize that the first one 
caught, at least, would suffer heavy punishment and 
no one desired to be the first. That evening after the 
game not one player dared order even a bottle of beer 



MANAGERS 81 

sent to his room, and there was gloom all over the train- 
ing camp. 

After supper an innocent reporter was busy in his 
room when Foster, Ryan and several others of the 
choice spirits of the team began to drop in, as if cas- 
ually. When the meek scribe inquired what mischief 
was afoot, they told him to go on writing and not to 
get inquisitive. A short time later a porter wheeled 
an eight gallon keg of beer into the room, the re- 
porter's papers were brushed ofif the table, he was in- 
formed he had written enough for that evening, the 
keg was tapped, and cards produced. The poker game 
lasted until long past midnight and the beer was con- 
sumed. Anson meantime was camping in a chair at 
the entrance of the hotel, keeping grim watch. Occa- 
sionally he would stalk back to the bar room to make 
certain none of his players dared take a drink. 

The party in the reporter's room was continued ev- 
ery night, while Anson congratulated himself that at 
last he had effectually curbed the rowdies on the team. 
One evening when the keg was partly empty and the 
poker game full, Foster wandered to the open window 
and looked down four stories. 

"Well, I declare," he said in surprise, "If there isn't 
Captain Anson seated by the doorway." Picking up 
the keg, he dropped it out the window. 

The keg struck the sidewalk twenty feet from where 
Anson was seated, with a report like the discharge of a 
fourteen-inch gun. It bounded twenty feet and crashed 
down again upon the sidewalk, but by the time it struck 



82 TOUCHING SECOND 

again Anson had dived to safety. Anson never really 
obtained evidence enough to convict anyone, but he 
had an idea. 

"I know it was Ryan, Daly or Foster," he said, "but 
which one I'm not certain." 

On that same trip the team was departing from a 
hotel when Foster, polite, apologetic and courteously 
embarrassed, drew Anson aside. 

"Captain," he whispered, "I regret exceedingly an 
unfortunate predicament into which I have been forced, 
as it compels me to ask a great favor." 

"What is it, Foster?" inquired Captain Anson. 

"To tell the truth. Captain," (Foster actually hesi- 
tated and blushed), "I am a bit short, and — and — I 
wanted to ask you, as a great favor, if you will settle 
my laundry bill." 

"Certainly, Foster, certainly," replied Anson heart- 
ily as he strode toward the desk. Foster hastily 
grabbed his hand baggage and disappeared as rapidly 
as possible from the hotel. When Anson received the 
bill he staggered. It read: "To laundry, $42.55." 
Foster had charged up extra meals, drinks and every 
other item as laundry. 

Tom Daly, another irrepressible who never became 
entirely subdued during all his long career, added gray 
hairs to the heads of many managers. Nothing stopped 
Daly and few things ever caused him to hesitate. Mis- 
chief bubbled out of him. One hot summer day he was 
riding westward with the team when the train stopped 
at a small station. Standing on the platform was a 



MANAGERS 83 

farmer with a benign, fatherly expression and enough 
whiskers to stuff a chest protector. Daly, leaning from 
the car window, accosted the farmer most politely, en- 
gaged him in conversation regarding crops, the effect 
of the drought upon the corn, prices and the weather 
outlook. Just as the train started Daly stretched out 
his hand. "Well, good-bye," he remarked and, grasp- 
ing the astonished farmer by the whiskers he dragged 
him half the length of the platform. 

The game has improved wonderfully in respect to 
the behavior and manners of players since the commer- 
cialization era. Condition has become such a vital ele- 
ment in the success of clubs that drinking and 
carousing cannot be tolerated. Besides that, the play- 
ers have come to realize that they must care for their 
bodies if they are to continue in the profession. 

An incident that happened in Philadelphia near the 
close of the season of 1908 shows the control of mod- 
ern managers over their men and the discipline exist- 
ing. The race was close, and to Chicago even one de- 
feat seemed to mean the loss of the pennant. The Chi- 
cago club had just finished a double header and had 
lost one of the games in heart-breaking manner when 
it seemed won. New York had beaten Pittsburg twice, 
and it appeared as if the results that day had decided 
the championship. The Cubs, returning to the hotel in 
carriages, were silent and downhearted. Not a word 
was spoken for a long time. Suddenly Tinker re- 
marked to Chance : 



84 TOUCHING SECOND 

"Well, Cap, I guess it's all oft*. Let's break training 
and make a good night of it." 

For an instant Chance was silent. Then he said : 

"No. We were good winners last year. Let's show 
them we are good losers and play the string out. We 
may win yet." 

The following day Chicago won two games and New 
York lost two, and the Cubs were back in the race. 
When Tinker made the remark the team had twelve 
games to play and, by winning eleven of them, it tied 
New York for the championship and then won the 
deciding game. Chance's insistence upon continuing 
in training and delaying the celebration brought the 
victory. 

Managers finally realized that to win they did not 
need the brilliant but erratic stars, and chose players 
of decent character and enough intelligence to keep 
themselves in condition without being watched. The 
great successes of Chance and Clarke and Comiskey 
have resulted from the selection of men who will keep 
in condition. 

The increasing prosperity of baseball has served to 
relieve the manager from much labor, as business man- 
agers and secretaries have taken many of their duties 
away. They are still left in charge of the physical, 
moral and often financial welfare of their men, besides 
directing their playing on the field. Discipline the 
manager must have. Five major league managers 
failed in 1909 because they were unable to enforce dis- 
cipline among their players. Sometimes stringent 
measures are necessary to hold players in check, espe- 



MANAGERS 85 

cially after a team has gained the upper hand and dis- 
covered the weaknesses of the man in charge. If they 
think a manager is unfair, or has favorites, he is lost. 
He must hold their confidence, as well as respect. 

Chance, for instance, permits poker playing with a 
twenty-five cent limit, but all games must stop by eleven 
o'clock. He stepped into a hotel room at midnight once 
and discovered five of his players and a newspaper 
man playing dollar limit. 

"That will cost you each $25," he said quietly, '*not 
so much for playing as for deliberately disobeying the 
limit rule." 

Every man in the game was a veteran. 

"I wouldn't mind you older players doing it," 
Chance continued, ''but you're setting the worst kind 
of an example to the young ones. As for you," he 
added, turning to the reporter, "I'll not give you a 
piece of news for a month." 

"Can't I pay the fine and get the news ?" inquired the 
reporter. 

"Sure, that will punish you and not the paper," re- 
plied Chance. 

A few weeks later Chance was playing poker. Ev- 
eryone had forgotten the time limit, and it was nearly 
midnight before it was noticed. 

"I'll have to fine myself this time," remarked 
Chance, and he reported himself fined $25 for violating 
his own rules. 

Fining, however, has not been found the most ef- 
fective way of curbing disobedience. Suspending 



86 TOUCHING SECOND 

players, putting them on the bench for an indefinite 
period, or in extreme cases, trading them, or sending 
them to some minor league, has proved more salutary. 
Chance's players once began to feel too prosperous 
and independent. A pitcher, who had been a famous 
figure, was sent home to prepare to pitch an important 
Sunday game. The team arrived home on Sunday 
morning and Chance discovered the pitcher had not 
been at the grounds at all. He immediately wrote the 
unconditional release of the pitcher. He never had an 
uprising afterwards. 

Possibly the most effective disciplinary system is the 
one by which Bill Rourke controls the Omaha club. He 
never fines a player. If the man will not listen to moral 
suasion, Rourke invites him back of the clubhouse and 
enforces discipline with his fists. Once Rourke was 
compelled to invite out a big player who proved a 
Tartar. He gave Rourke a bad whipping, then while 
Rourke was patching up his damaged features, the 
player hastened away. As soon as Rourke removed 
traces of the conflict he sought the man and found him 
at his hotel packing his trunk. 

"What are you doing ?" he demanded. 

"Why — well," stammered the player, "I didn't see 
how I could stay with the team after what happened.'* 

"Stay?" ejaculated Rourke, "I should say you will 
stay. I need you to manage this club." 

Rourke's theory was correct. The manager who 
cannot rule his men might as well retire in favor of the 
man who can. 



CHAPTER VI 

CATCHING 

Catching is the pivotal position and the most impor- 
tant in baseball. The catcher is the director or trans- 
mitter of all messages, the key-board used by manager 
or pitcher to flash' orders to all others, and the chief 
wigwag station on the battlefield in the defensive game. 

Oddly enough, this important position is the only 
one in which the players have failed to improve me- 
chanically, and keep pace with the physical development 
of the national sport. The statement in no way is 
meant to reflect upon the catchers themselves. The 
game has changed so much in the last decade that the 
heavy increase in the duties thrust upon the catchers 
has not only diminished the supply but overtaxed the 
physical capacity of all except the extraordinary men. 
The position has become so vital to the game, and its 
duties so numerous and trying, that it is difficult for 
one man to carry them all with any degree of success. 

There are not ten really first-class catchers in Amer- 
ica and the team which lacks one of these ten, no mat- 
ter how great its strength may be in other departments, 
is doomed to failure before it starts. A weak, uncer- 
tain, erratic or brainless catcher can ruin the best pitch- 
ing corps in the land in a few weeks, and break up a 
perfectly organized team in even less time. The num- 
ber of passed balls, muffed flies, failures to touch base 

87 



88 TOUCHING SECOND 

runners at the plate and other mechanical mistakes 
form no criterion by which to judge a catcher. His 
greatest errors are those of judgment, his worst blun- 
ders are the ones the spectators never see. For not 
only must he direct the pitching and signal for each 
ball, signal for each play made with runners on the 
bases, watch runners and signal the pitcher to make 
throws, but also he has innumerable opportunities to 
throw or not to throw when the slightest hesitancy or 
uncertainty will mean defeat. He can make a pitcher 
"wild,'* force the best pitcher to give bases on balls, 
break up all the teamwork and infield play, by a mo- 
ment of excitement or panic. A cool, brainy pitcher 
sometimes can steady a catcher, or take the control of 
the game out of his hands and, changing signals, hold 
the team steady and save the catcher, but the majority 
of pitchers prefer to pitch to orders, rather than as- 
sume responsibility of changing them. 

To understand the manifold duties of the catcher re- 
quires not only brains, coolness, generalship and good 
memory, but also the mechanical ability to catch balls 
of any speed, to judge distances accurately, throw from 
any position on the line and with a short, snap motion 
of the arm, to throw off the shoulder towards first base 
with scarcely a glance in that direction, to direct team 
work, observe the positions of every player before every 
ball pitched, signal fielders before making a throw, 
watch runners closely and signal the pitcher when they 
venture too far off the bases, to know which men will 
steal, and on what ball, to win the friendship of um- 



CATCHING 89 

pires, and above all to know the tricks and habits of 
batters. 

Because of the intimate knowledge of batters and 
baserunners required in successful catching, experience 
is the greatest factor in the position, and it is impossi- 
ble for young catchers to meet with great success. 
Usually three years of experience with a major league 
team is needed to make a catcher competent. As the 
catcher's throwing must be done with a jerky motion 
of the arm and from unnatural positions, as the position 
is the most wearing one in the game, and the most dan- 
gerous, only a minority who begin as catchers continue 
long enough to gain the experience. The catcher who 
can go through two seasons without crippling injuries 
from spikes of base runners, foul tips or wild pitches 
is lucky. 

The number of times a catcher is injured in a season 
is surprising. At one time in 1909, George Gibson, in 
spite of chest protectors, shin guards, and heavy pads, 
had black and blue spots imprinted by nineteen foul tips 
upon his body, a damaged hand, a bruise on his hip six 
inches square where a thrown bat had struck, and three 
spike cuts. Yet he had not missed a game and was 
congratulating himself on his "luck." Pat Moran, of 
Chicago, in four games was hit seven times on or near 
the knees by fouls, struck once on the throwing arm, 
and once on the shoulder ; yet he stuck to it until a foul 
broke through his mask and tore his face. Under such 
conditions of wear and tear the wonder is that the sup- 
ply of catchers even approximates the demand and it 



90 TOUCHING SECOND 

is small wonder that the men who might make really 
great catchers prefer some other position where the 
risk is not so large. 

Chance, while a catcher, had the record for getting 
hurt. He was injured five times in one game at New 
York and that night, lying in his berth lamenting his 
ill luck, with a torn ear, a bruised arm, and with a finger 
stuck into a lemon, he was struck by a disc of tin sailed 
up the aisle by a roisterer and suffered a severe cut on 
his upper lip. 

The first and most important duty of the catcher is 
to know batters, and the power of observation and 
quick judgment necessarily involved is enormous. Vet- 
eran batters, of course, are known by all, as their weak- 
nesses and strength are matters of common gossip. 
The catchers must remember what kind of balls they 
hit, and in what direction they are likely to hit any 
special kind of ball. Also they know that batters 
change gradually and must be on the lookout for signs 
of such changes. Occasionally batters who always have 
hit to left field and are "easy" on slow balls, suddenly 
begin to hit slow and low balls hard and to right field. 

Besides first hand knowledge of a batter's possibili- 
ties, the catcher must look closely each time he comes 
to bat, first to see what kind of a bat he carries; sec- 
ond, to observe the position of his feet and body, upon 
which positions the direction of his hit depend, and 
third to see how he is gripping his bat, in order to guess 
his designs. Frequently the catcher, after observing the 
position of the batter, must order the pitcher to pitch 



CATCHING 91 

straight and fast toward the batter's head, the object 
being to force the batter to shift position quickly and 
destroy his plan of attack. Batters never before seen 
are judged by the position of their feet and their grip 
upon the bats and then the catcher must experiment to 
discover the weakness of the batter. Frequently play- 
ers watching during batting practice find the weak- 
nesses of new men before the game starts. Boston 
brought a young outfielder to Chicago who had a repu- 
tation for being able to hit. Kling and Brown watched 
him closely during batting practice. 

''He'll fish," remarked Brown. 

"Anything low — in or outside," whispered Kling. 

Brown pitched low curves outside the plate and low 
fast straight balls inside during the game and the new 
man "fished," i. e., swung at balls he could not reach. 
Brown, when asked to explain how he knew this said : 

"He showed nervousness and pulled his left foot. 
I knew he would swing at anything that broke 
quickly." 

"He held his hands with the wrists turned too high," 
added Kling, "and fully an inch too far apart to get a 
good swing at a low ball inside." 

The slightest shift of position of hands, feet or body 
of a batter must be noted by the catcher, and inter- 
preted. The first nervous motion to bunt, the first im- 
pulsive step forward, reveal the intention of the bat- 
ters and the catcher can order the ball pitched exactly 
where the batter is not expecting it. 

Spectators are not aware that one of the greatest and 



92 TOUCHING SECOND 

most effective balls pitched is the "bean ball." "Bean" 
is baseball for "head" and pitching at the batter's head, 
not to hit it, but to drive him out of position and per- 
haps cause him to get panic stricken and swing at the 
ball in self-defense is an art. Even hitting batters is 
advocated by many pitchers. Tony MuUane, in his 
day one of the greatest pitchers, owed much of his suc- 
cess to the fact that he hit batters who tried to crowd 
the plate. One of the Chicago pitchers, at the start of 
his career, was timid, and the batters kept encroaching 
upon the plate and hitting his curve ball. Chance in- 
structed the pitcher to hit one batter in the first inning 
of every game he pitched until the batters were driven 
back. The pitcher followed orders and after he had 
pitched once against each opposing team the batters 
were driven back until he became a success. 

After experience has brought to the catcher a knowl- 
edge of batters and an intimate familiarity with his 
own men, their capabilities and their mode of play, the 
catcher begins to be valuable. Being the only player 
facing all the others he must either originate or trans- 
mit all orders. He must know every signal used, either 
by manager or men, and have courage enough to as- 
sume responsibility for issuing orders when in positions 
where it is impossible to get them from the manager. 
In this respect the playing manager has the advantage 
of the bench manager again, as he is in position to sig- 
nal the catcher constantly, and afford much assistance, 
especially to a weak man. 

The catcher must conceal carefully every signal 



CATCHING 93 

given, not only hiding his signals, and "covering up" 
to prevent coachers, batters or base runners from see- 
ing them, but frequently when he observes he is being 
watched, he must give false signals to mislead the op- 
position. In the scheme of attack of all teams the de- 
tection of signs and signals of the opposing team is the 
great strategical principle, and the alert eyes of the 
attackers often detect signals and compel quick 
changes, so that the catcher constantly is on the alert 
to outgeneral the men who are watching him. 

Possibly the most intricate part of the catcher's work, 
as well as the most important, is throwing to catch 
runners, not when they are stealing, but while they are 
leading off the bases. The number of runners actually 
caught matters little, but the throwing has for its prin- 
cipal object the prevention of stealing, and holding the 
runners close to their bases. The catcher watches the 
runner edging away from first base. He knows to an 
inch how far the runner can go and return in safety. 
The catcher signals, by turning his mitt over and back 
rapidly, that on the next pitched ball he will throw to' 
first. As the ball is pitched the first baseman dashes 
behind the runner to the base, the pitcher throws shoul- 
der high and outside the plate, and the catcher, without 
looking, grabs the sphere and hurls it at first base, 
where the baseman meets it on the run. If the runner 
has hesitated an eighth of a second in diving back, he is 
blocked off the base and put out. 

Catchers like Archer, who throw with a snap of the 
arm while standing flat footed, catch scores of runners 



94 TOUCHING SECOND 

each season, and practically stop the stealing o£ second 
base by preventing the runners from getting a flying 
start. After a catcher once establishes a reputation 
for throwing, he has few throws to make. 

A throw of that kind made by Kling that caught 
Herzog off first base in the famous game between New 
York and Chicago when they played off their tie for 
the championship gave Chicago the pennant in 1908. 
Two men were on bases, Bresnahan was striving to 
bunt. Kling caught the bunt signal, the ball was 
pitched out and like a flash Kling hurled the ball to 
Chance. Herzog was caught, hesitating eight feet 
from the bag and New York was stopped in the midst 
of a rally that ought to have netted half a dozen runs. 

The Cubs worked a variation of the same play with 
great success one season until Evers was sent to hos- 
pital by it. The play was planned to kill the sacrifice 
bunt. With a runner on first base, and the intent of 
the batter to sacrifice self-evident, the pitcher curved 
the ball far outside the plate. Chance would desert his 
position and dash forward as if to field the bunt, giving 
the base runner freedom to move away from the base. 
Evers then came at top speed behind the unsuspecting 
runner and Kling threw to first base, Evers taking the 
ball and catching the runner. The play proved effective 
until one of Kling's throws went wild. Evers attempted 
to block the ball, and Blankenship, of Cincinnati, who 
was the runner, collided with Evers and sent him to 
hospital for six weeks. 





'Red" Dooin, one of the greatest of catchers, taking a 
wild pitch "raw." 



CATCHING 95 

The play when made to catch a runner off second 
base, requires the unerring cooperation of the short stop 
and second baseman who, jockeying around the base 
appear to be striving to hold him close. The object of 
this is to spur the runner to an added effort to take a 
few feet of ground. The short stop tries to get behind 
the runner again and again, apparently without suc- 
cess. The instant the catcher signals his intention of 
throwing, the short stop apparently ceases his efforts 
to hold up the runners, and, retiring to his natural posi- 
tion, speaks to the runner in an effort to divert his 
attention. When the catcher throws, the second base- 
man takes the ball on the run and crosses the bag to 
block the runner. Frequently the catcher will change 
the plan quickly during the jockeying and signal the 
pitcher to whirl and throw to the base. 

In the attempted double steal, which is used by all 
teams almost without fail when runners are on first 
and third and two out, the decision of the catcher as to 
where to throw is vital. He must decide whether to 
throw to second base, to third base, or to the pitcher, 
whether to throw clear to third base, or throw short, 
in order that one of the fielders may come forward, 
meet the throw and return the ball to him. His decis- 
ion must be made after the runners start, and it is de- 
pendent upon the way in which they act, or upon their 
speed or peculiarities. 

In this the veteran catcher has much advantage, as 
he knows from experience just how certain runners 
make the play. With Leach on third base, for instance, 



96 TOUCHING SECOND 

every catcher throws fast to third base, because it is 
well known Leach has a habit of making a false start 
for the plate. If Wagner is the runner at third the 
catcher will throw short, and the short stop or second 
baseman will dash forward, meet the ball and throw, 
back to the plate. They know Wagner will start at 
the right instant, and that he will come home fast and 
slide to the finish. With a bad baserunner on third, 
the catcher will make the long throw to second base, 
and head off the runner going from first. Every varia- 
tion of the play depends for its success upon the quick 
thinking of the catcher, and the least delay means a 
run scored. 

There always has been much argument and conten- 
tion regarding the relative abilities of the great catch- 
ers. The best authorities agree that Mike Kelly, Buck 
Ewing and John Kling were the best of their respective 
eras, but conditions have changed so much compari- 
sons between them are impossible. Ewing and Kling 
were men of much the same type — quiet, cool and cal- 
culating; Kelly was different, being a volatile, brainy, 
inventive Irishman. Kelly, who played back and took 
the ball on the first bound most of the time, had twice 
as many passed balls in a month as Kling would have 
in a season, but his armor was lighter, and he faced 
different styles of pitching. He caught in the days 
when great powerful, often wild, pitchers, took a five 
foot run through the box and hurled the ball fifty feet. 
Ewing who really came between Kelly and Kling, was 
cool, studious, steady, helpful to pitchers, and threw 



CATCHING 97 

with rare judgment and ability. Kling is a brilliant 
general who worked perfectly with pitchers and the 
infield, and his throwing was as near perfect as could 
be. How much Chicago's wonderful infield helped in 
making Kling a great catcher is hard to calculate. One 
eastern catcher remarked : — 

"I would catch for half the salary I am getting if I 
had that infield to throw to and work with." 

Kling is a past master of the art of working um- 
pires on balls and strikes, which is one of the duties 
of a catcher that is not suspected by the spectators. 
The importance of "getting the corners" is realized by 
all players, and the catcher who gets this advantage is 
invaluable to his club. Some umpires call strikes on 
both corners, some the outside, some the inside, and 
some force the pitcher to put the ball squarely over the 
plate. Many and varied are the schemes worked by 
catchers to "get the corners." The best tactics, how- 
ever, are those employed by the catchers who seldom 
kick, and who win the friendship and confidence of the 
officials. The other players may kick, or rage and 
shoot shafts of sarcasm at the umpire, but the catcher 
knows he must be diplomatic. Sympathizing with the 
umpire, or openly rebuking his own team mates for 
kicking, assuring the umpire he was right, or speaking 
his objections in a low tone, serve many catchers in 
their effort to get a "shade the better of it" on ball and 
strike decisions. The umpire does not care much what 
the players say to him, or how much they kick, if they 
do not arouse the crowd to anger. Kling's method 



98 TOUCHING SECOND 

was to be friendly with all umpires, siding with them,, 
telling them they were right, and frequently whispering 
to them to be on the guard for a certain curve that was 
coming. He urged them not to pay attention to other 
players, and while never openly criticising umpires, he 
occasionally whispered that he thought the ball might 
have been over the corner. 

Roger Bresnahan, one of the greatest of catchers, 
works on exactly opposite lines. He seldom says much 
to an umpire (that anyone save the umpire can hear) 
but he invites the crowd to sympathize with him against 
the official by looking pained and grieved. When an 
umpire calls a ball which Bresnahan thinks was a 
strike, spectators have the impression that Bresnahan 
has just lost his dearest friend. He can assume a look 
of outraged, grieved and hurt surprise that would win 
a fortune for him on the stage. Even the batter who 
knows that the ball was a foot outside the plate, feels 
sorrowful when he sees Bresnahan's look of woe. Louis 
Criger, another marvelous catcher, adopts another 
method. He talks all the time he is catching, fdrcibly 
expressing his opinion of the umpire on every ball and 
strike, and he keeps up a running fire of argument and 
criticism. The long suffering umpires have grown so 
accustomed to him that they merely allow him to rave. 
''Red" Dooin, the hardest working and one of the best 
catchers in either league, always talks, smiles, and 
fights at the same time. He is in deadly earnest and 
when he does quarrel with an umpire it is not for ef- 



CATCHING 99 

feet. One day in 1909 an umpire threatened to put 
him off the field. 

"Put me off. Put me off," he screamed, "put me off, 
then I won't have to associate with a fellow like you." 

Of all methods, Kling's is the most effective, for 
after all, umpires are human and one kind word helps. 



CHAPTER VII 

PITCHING 

Pitching is the most highly developed, most skillful 
and most important part of baseball, requiring more 
thought, more strength and more brains than any other 
position demands. Good pitching is the absolute es- 
sential to victory, and, considered in relation to the "in- 
side game," is vital, for unless the pitcher understands 
every move of his fellow players, and adjusts his pitch- 
ing to the plan, the "inside game" becomes worse than 
useless. 

The development of the science of pitching has, from 
the inception of the game, been in advance of the de- 
velopment of the other departments of play and to such 
an extent that the rule makers from the first have found 
it necessary to legislate to handicap the pitcher to pre- 
vent him from becoming absolute master of the game. 
In spite of the rules the pitchers have by persistent work 
and thought kept in advance of the progress of the na- 
tional sport. 

Involving the study of wind pressures, dynamics, 
physics, and mathematics, in addition to the principles 
of the game itself, pitching is an art demanding closest 
attention at every instant, the concentration of every 
energy upon the game, so much so that in almost 
every game the pitchers lose all track of the number of 
innings played, of the score itself, forget the crowd, and 

100 



PITCHING 101 

neither hear the cheers nor hisses, because their minds 
are so focused on the batters. 

The story of the development of the art of pitching 
from the days of the straight arm, underhand pitch to 
the present is one of constant discoveries and triumphs, 
until, in the educated fingers of the great masters of 
the art, the ball seems endowed with life. 

The days of the underhand pitch were the kinder- 
garten days of the game, and with the coming of over- 
hand pitching the science began to develop. The dis- 
covery of the curve ball marked another era, and gave 
the foundation for modern pitching. Pitchers use, pri- 
marily, two kinds of pitches, the "straight one," and 
the curve. They are the basis of all pitching, but there 
are all kinds of "straight" balls and as many varieties 
of curve as there are pitchers. The majority of pitch- 
ers begin their careers with no other varieties than 
speed and a curve, and the strength of youthful arms to 
win success. The "straight" ball is a misnomer, for 
there is only one kind of ball a pitcher cannot throw 
and that is a "straight" one, as every ball curves, regard- 
less of the will of the pitcher. It is the study and de- 
velopment of these curves that makes great pitchers. 
' The fast ball is sheer speed, its success depending 
entirely upon its velocity and the control the pitcher 
\ has of it. It is pitched with the sphere gripped with 
the thumb underneath and the first two fingers on top, 
and is thrown either underhand or overhand with full 
force. Pitched directly overhand, with the fingers held 
directly on top, the ball goes as straight to the plate as 



102 TOUCHING SECOND 

it is possible to make it go, the speed and the downward 
angle make it difficult for the batter to hit, unless 
it comes in "the groove," which is the natural angle. 
Pitched with the hand held sideways, the b^ll, taking 
friction from the finger tips, swerves slightly from its 
course and breaks in towards a right handed batter. 
If the ball is gripped tightly with the finger tips at the 
moment it is released from the hand its speed piles up 
a billow of air in front of it, and at some point before 
crossing the plate, the air resistance becomes so great 
that the ball "jumps" an inch or more upward or in 
the direction the greatest amount of pressure of the 
fingers was applied. 

Every man who pitches fast balls successfully has a 
powerful grip and a strong arm, the stronger the 
greater the jump to the fast ball. President Cleveland 
once received a crowd of baseball players in the White 
House and shook hands with all. When the ceremony 
was over he laughingly picked out the three pitchers, 
and explained that he knew by the grips of their hands 
that they were pitchers. 

The curve is a ball held exactly in the same way in 
which the fast one is gripped, but the ball is released 
over the side and end of the first finger. The amount 
of curve or shoot depends upon the manner and 
strength of the grip of the hand and the way in which 
the wrist is turned at the moment of release, as well 
as upon the amount of power applied by the pitcher. 

These are the elementary principles of pitching, so 
well understood that every school boy knows them. 



PITCHING 103 

They are the beginning of the wonders of baseball 
pitching. After them come the change of pace, the 
slow ball, the "spit ball," the "knuckle ball," the "fade- 
away," a score of curves and varieties of curves, and 
to tell how these things are done it is necessary to tell 
who does them, and how. 

Cy Young and "Kid" Nichols were the leading pitch- 
ers of fast balls, although both used curves while de- 
pending upon the "straight" one for their greatest suc- 
cess. They pitched the ball alike, throwing directly 
overhand, with the hand held as straight as possible 
and, at the instant of releasing the ball each gripped it 
tightly with the finger tips and loosely with the thumb. 
The finger pressure increased the speed of the natural 
revolution of the ball and caused it to jump more. It 
is odd that Young and Nichols who probably came 
nearer pitching "straight" balls than any other pitchers 
ever did, were so successful and it proves that the batter 
does not hit at the ball at all, but swings his bat at a 
spot where he expects the ball to cross the plate. The 
success of the fast ball lies in this, and in the fact 
that it is coming so rapidly the batter has no opportu- 
nity to change the direction of his swing before the ball 
passes. 

The curve pitchers are a host. Every one has a dif- 
ferent curve, faster, sharper, slower, with heavier twist, 
or some individual peculiarity to distinguish it. The 
first curves pitched were of the variety now known as 
the "barrel hoop." It was a slow curve, pitched under- 
hand, with the hand swung nearly to the level of the 



104 TOUCHING SECOND 

knee, fingers downward and hand held almost at right 
angles with the- wrist. As the hand was swung the wrist 
was jerked sharply and the ball, sHding off the first, 
finger, revolved rapidly and the air pressure on one side 
of the sphere and the partial vacuum on the other 
caused by the rotation, forced the ball to move in a slow 
Avide arc. All curves are developments of the "barrel 
hoop," the same principle entering into each, whether 
it is Mordecai Brown's marvelous "hook" curve, 
George Mullin's meteoric shoot, or the wonderful 
curves of Camnitz, Overall, Wiltse, Krause, Adams, 
Ferguson and others. 

Brown's "hook" curve is the highest present devel- 
opment of the fast overhand curve pitch which breaks 
sharply down and outward. Brown probably owes 
much of his success to a feed chopper which cut off 
part of his right hand, leaving him without an index 
finger and with the middle finger bent at right angles 
at the first joint. Brown pitches the "hook" overhand, 
releasing the ball at various points after his hand 
swings past his body. By the point at which he releases 
the ball he regulates the point at which it breaks in the 
air. He can make the ball either describe a wide fast 
arc, or by jerking his hand at the proper instant, make 
the ball go in almost a straight line, perhaps fifty feet, 
and then dart suddenly down and outward. 

There are many players, however, among them mem- 
bers of the Detroit team who faced him in the final 
game for the World's Championship in 1908, who be- 
lieve Overall's curve a more marvelous one. In that 



-% 




w... 




<^# 




Willis, just after releasing a slow curve intended to turn in 
toward the batter. 



PITCHING 105 

game the Chicago giant had one of the most remarka- 
ble curves ever pitched. At times the ball darted down 
two feet and struck the ground while the batters struck 
more than a foot over it. 

Overall pitches his curve with a wide, sweeping over- 
hand swing, releasing the ball over the side of the index 
finger as his hand turns downward. His swing and 
curve are duplicates of those used by Terry, McCor- 
mick and some of the great pitchers of the past, and 
when his jerk motion at the finish of the wide swing 
is sharp, the curve actually Jarts downward. 

But speed and curves alone will not win and pitchers, 
baseball generations ago, discovered that there was 
not enough of an assortment to long puzzle batters. 
The batters guessed correctly too many times whether 
the ball would be curved or fast, and often detected by 
the position of the hand that a curve was coming even 
before it was pitched. With the necessity of a greater 
assortment came the "slow ball," one of the paradoxes 
of the game. Slow balls are of three different kinds, 
with a huge number of varieties of each kind. The 
original slow ball was merely a ball thrown slowly, the 
pitcher depending entirely upon a false motion to de- 
ceive the batter into believing he was pitching a fast 
ball. The pitcher would swing his arm, check it sud- 
denly and "lob" the ball to the plate. The ball did not 
deceive the batter in the slightest after it left the pitch- 
er's hand, but before that he was thrown off his bal- 
ance, deceived by the arm motion, and was out of posi- 
tion to lunge forward and hit the ball. 



106 TOUCHING SECOND 

Keefe, O'Day and most of the old time pitchers used 
that kind of a slow ball, but after batters began to 
watch the motion and shift their feet so as to run for- 
ward and meet the slow pitch, they were compelled to 
find something new and the development of the slow 
ball followed. The difficulty was to pitch a ball with 
full force and with the exact motion used in pitching a 
fast ball, and yet make the ball travel slowly. It was 
discovered that if the ball be held far back in the palm 
of the hand, with the little finger and the thumb 
clinched on opposite sides of it, or the little finger and 
the third finger on one side and the thumb on the other, 
with the other fingers held so as not to touch the ball 
at all, the result could be attained. Held that way, and 
with the arm swung at full speed and force, the finger 
and thumb gripping the ball tightly at the moment of 
release, the result is peculiar. Instead of revolving 
and going rapidly the ball wabbles from side to side, 
scarcely turning over, and allowing the full atmos- 
pheric pressure to strike the forward side with no revo- 
lution to lessen the friction. The result is the air pres- 
sure stops the ball and it loses speed rapidly, obeys the 
call of gravity and drops quickly toward the earth after 
expending its force. The harder the ball is thrown 
and the tighter the finger pressure at the instant of 
release, the more sharply the ball drops. Expert after 
expert developed the slow ball, until its perfection was 
reached in the hands of Brown, Frank Sparks, of Phil- 
adelphia, and ''Doc" White of the Chicago Americans. 

The odd thing about pitching is this : — a ball which 



PITCHING 107 

revolves in the air appears much smaller to the eye 
than one that fails to revolve and the more rapid the 
revolution of the sphere the smaller it appears. The 
slow ball, floating in the air and **dead," looks as ''big 
as a balloon," as everyone in the bleachers remarks, 
and it does not deceive the eye. In fact if slow balls 
of that variety are pitched three or four times in succes- 
sion they look so large that an amateur can hit them 
out of the lot. Successful use of that kind of a pitched 
ball consists entirely in surprising the batter, fooling 
him when he expects something else. The batter may 
miss the ball a foot, yet his eye is not deceived. He 
saw the ball perfectly but was off balance, just as he 
was for the slow pitch. 

The discovery of another kind of slow ball, and the 
most successful pitched ball ever used, arose from the 
fact that to deceive the eye the ball must be made to 
appear small, and that revolution, and rapid revolution 
at that, is necessary to deceive the eye into the idea of 
smallness and speed when it is slow. "Hoss" Rad- 
bourne working on that theory, began to develop a 
slow ball that revolved rapidly. It seemed impossible, 
because a ball that revolves rapidly usually has great 
speed, the greater the speed, the greater the revolution. 
But Radbourne, pitching for Providence, kept practic- 
ing until he found his slow ball. He had been a good 
pitcher before that, and after his discovery he became 
one of the greatest the game has ever known. 

No one could understand his success, yet his discov- 
ery was simple. He found that if he held the ball ex- 



108 TOUCHING SECOND 

actly as if pitching a fast ball, with the thumb on one 
side and the two first fingers on the other, and at the 
moment of releasing it from his hand clinched the fin- 
ger tips tightly into the seams of the ball and jerked 
backwards with the hand, the ball not only would re- 
volve rapidly but would travel almost on a straight line 
— yet slowly. The revolution, which was the reverse 
of the natural twist, helped the ball to hold its straight 
course, and it lost speed quickly after exhausting the 
reverse revolution and fell rapidly towards the ground 
at a point in front of the batter. The secret of his 
discovery, Radbourne imparted to Clark Griffith, now 
manager of the Cincinnati club, and for years after the 
passing of Radbourne, Griffith was one of the premier 
pitchers of the country, holding practically a monop- 
oly on his slow ball and using it with wonderful effect. 
But the ultimate and greatest development of that 
slow ball was left for Mathewson of New York, in 
whose hands it became the most effective ball ever 
used; the "fadeaway," which is only a development 
of the idea and the style used by Radbourne and 
Griffith, is a ball which almost all the pitchers in the 
country are trying with more or less success to imitate. 
Yet before Mathewson learned the trick of pitching his 
"fader,'* there was one who pitched the same ball in 
even more wonderful style. Virgil Garvin, a tall, slen- 
der young Texan, with extraordinarily long fingers, 
pitched the ball before Mathewson, but he did not un- 
derstand its use or worth. He pitched it with his mid- 
dle finger lapped over the index finger and when he 



PITCHING 109 

released the ball his hand was turned almost upside 
down. He jerked the hand downward and backward, 
the ball going over the sides of the lapped fingers, giv- 
ing it a rapid revolution that resulted in the impression 
of great speed. 

Mathewson achieved his "fadeaway" by holding the 
ball exactly as Griffith did his slow ball and releasing 
it over the side of the middle finger. By the sharp hold- 
ing pressure and "draw" of his fingers he put the "re- 
verse English" on the ball, causing it to revolve rap- 
idly for a distance, then lose speed and "fade" towards 
the ground and inward like a left handed pitcher's slow 
curve. The action of the ball is exactly that of a massed 
billiard ball, and when the ball "fades" it really is striv- 
ing to get grip enough on the air to return toward the 
pitcher. 

Scores of pitchers have imitated Mathewson's "fade- 
away;" some with success. Flakenberg. of Cleve- 
land, Willis of St. Louis, and Reulbach of Chicago can 
pitch it well. "Vic" Willis, a veteran, ranks as one 
of the cleverest of pitchers, and his use of slow curves 
is a revelation to young players. Chicago signed a 
youngster once who thought he could hit. Willis, who 
never had seen him before, teased him with slow curves 
and drooping slow pitches, and the youngster struck 
out three times. 

"Are there more like him?" he inquired anxiously. 

"He's only a second rater," complained an angry 
player. 



110 TOUCHING SECOND 



"Then," said the youngster with immense cheerful- 
ness, "I won't be here long." 

With all these varieties of speed and curves, pitch- 
ers were not satisfied and each kept seeking more varie- 
ties of slants warranted to prevent hitting. There 
came into baseball in 1903 a ball that came near revo- 
lutionizing the game. The Chicago White Sox had 
signed Elmer Stricklett. While the team was training 
at New Orleans, Stricklett was pitching to batters in 
practice when he pitched a ball which, whirling rapidly 
for a short distance, suddenly ceased revolving, com- 
menced to float and wabble like a slow ball and then 
darted down and out like a fast curve, leaving the bat- 
ter staring in astonishment. Stricklett repeated the 
pitch and immediately every man on the field was clam- 
oring to see the ball and bat at it, suspecting some trick. 
That night correspondents sent messages filled with 
wild theories regarding the "spit ball." It is odd to 
recall the "call down" one of the correspondents re- 
ceived from the managing editor who telegraphed: 

"Please confine yourself to facts. No such thing 
as a spit ball is possible and the expression is vulgar." 

The managing editor was partly right; the ball is 
not a spit ball but a thumb ball. It is pitched with 
two (sometimes with three) fingers held on one side 
and the thumb on the other. The ball is made slippery 
at the point touched by the fingers, so that it slides off 
the fingers with the minimum of friction. The thumb, 
gripped tightly against the seam on the opposite side, 
gives the maximum of friction at th^t point, the result 




Ed Walsh, just after a side-arm pitc 



pitcn. 



PITCHING 111 

being that the ball, leaving" the thumb, takes "reverse 
English." It whirls rapidly for a short distance, until 
the heavy friction begins to overcome the natural ro- 
tary motion of the ball, when it stops rotating, as if 
a struggle between the two forces was going on, then 
the thumb "English" gains control and the ball darts 
just as it would have done if curved naturally, shoot- 
ing in the direction the heaviest friction was applied. 
A "spit ball," when pitched directly overhand, darts 
almost straight downward, and when pitched sidearm, 
with the thumb toward the body, it darts as a fast 
curve does, down and outward. Immense power and 
speed are required to pitch the ball successfully as the 
faster it is pitched the faster and sharper the curve 
will be. 

The "thumb ball," pitched without moisture, was 
used before Stricklett found saliva would negative the 
friction of the fingers, but the object was to get heavy 
friction on the thumb, rather than to decrease friction 
on the other side. The principle of the "spit ball" was 
used in Griffith's and Radbourne's slow balls. Those 
who saw Griffith pitch will remember how he always 
tapped the ball upon his heel spikes, and tried to per- 
suade umpires he was knocking the dirt out of the 
spikes. His object was to make small cuts or abra- 
sions on the surface of the ball, against which to press 
his thumb and get more friction at the desired point. 
He never thought of greasing or wetting the ball to 
lessen friction on the opposite side. 

Obtaining more friction at one point was the object 



112 TOUCHING SECOND 

of many pitchers. Some rubbed the ball on gritty dirt, 
others carried small files to use surreptitiously. One 
sharp rasp of the file and the ball was "winged/' at a 
certain point. The pitcher gripped his fingers against 
the "winged'* spot and not only was the sharpness of 
the curve accentuated, but the "wings" by offering 
more resistance to the air, caused the ball to make ec- 
centric shoots in the air. 

Al Orth used a "thumb ball" and saliva with aston- 
ishing success, but oddly enough never hit upon the 
most successful manner of using it. Orth came nearer 
pitching an upcurve than any pitcher ever did, and 
many think his underhand ball really curved upward. 
He at least made the unnatural rotation of the ball 
overcome gravity to such an extent that the ball did 
not drop, whether it rose or not. In pitching he held 
his thumb on top of the ball, pressed tightly against 
a seam, and two fingers under it, not touching the 
seam, and he spat upon the place where the fingers 
came in contact with the leather. Then he pitched un- 
derhand with great force, his hand swinging almost 
straight downward at the level of his knee. His ob- 
ject was to make the ball angle from his knee to the 
batter's shoulder and the false revolution imparted by 
his thumb was to make the ball "ride" the air and help 
maintain the angle. In seven years the number of 
"popups" hit off Orth's pitching was one of the won- 
ders of the game, being almost twice the normal, bat- 
ters continually hitting under his "thumb ball," which 
in reality was a "spit ball" pitched upside down. 



PITCHING 113 

The overhand "spit ball," with its marvelous shoot, 
brought an army of strong armed pitchers into the 
game, revived veterans whose careers seemed over, 
and ruined many great hitters. Almost every pitcher 
learned to use it^-and in the hands of Ed Walsh, the 
giant of the Chicago White Stockings, it reached its 
highest stage of development and made him the pitch- 
ing marvel of the decade. 

Immediately variations of the ball were developed. 
Slippery elm, talcum powder, crude oil, vaseline were 
used to lessen the friction of the fingers while other 
pitchers, to get more friction on the thumb, used gum, 
pumice stone, resin or adhesive tape. 

Stricklett had founded a new school of pitching. 
"Spit ball" pitchers who can control the ball need few 
other curves, and the ball, when it breaks at the right 
spot, practically is impossible to hit. But it was soon 
found to have drawbacks. Some pitchers abandoned 
it because it injured their arms. The catchers dreaded 
it because it was hard to handle, and harder to throw. 
The fielders opposed it because the slippery ball was 
hard to throw, and because, when hit, the ball takes 
doubly unnatural English, both from the bat and when 
it strikes the ground, and darts in weird manner. The 
batters objected, naturally, as it stopped their slugging. 

Frank Chance disliked the ball and during one 
spring training trip every team the Cubs played pre- 
sented a "spit ball" pitcher. Chance wanted batting 
practice and was aggravated. One day at Memphis a 
giant "spit ball" pitcher made his debut. Early in the 



114 TOUCHING SECOND 



game he pitched a "spitter" to Chance. The ball failed 
to break and Chance drove it back with terrific force. 
The pitcher threw up his hands. They were driven 
against his head, the ball caromed on to center field 
and Chance, spluttering with rage, remarked : — 

"There's one blanked *spit ball' pitcher I put out of 
business." 

Walsh, master artist of the "spit ball," pitches it in 
the most common way. He uses a trifle of slippery elm 
bark in his mouth and moistens a spot an inch square 
between the seams of the ball. His thumb he clinches 
tightly lengthwise on the opposite seam and, swinging 
his arm straight overhand with terrific force, he drives 
the ball straight at the plate. At times it will dart 
two feet down or out, depending upon the way his arm 
is swung. 

The American League, during the early days of the 
"spit ball," used it so much that Charlie Dryden, ang- 
ler and scribe, remarked that : "The American League 
consists of Ban Johnson, the *spit ball' and the Wabash 
Railroad." 

The "knuckle ball," a freak, promised much, and is 
successfully used by some long fingered pitchers, but it 
cannot be a general success because it is impossible for 
the fingers to grip the ball firmly enough to control its 
direction. The ball is pitched with the three middle 
fingers bent under, the ball resting against the first 
joints, and held by the thumb and little finger on oppo- 
site sides. Summers, of Detroit, pitches the ball with 
great effect at times, but it is uncertain, being nothing 



PITCHING 115 

more or less than a "spit ball" pitched in freakish man- 
ner. 

The "wrist ball" is only a contortion of the wrist 
and hands, resulting in a slow curve, and the "finger 
nail ball" is another freak effort at a slow ball. 

There is more to pitching, however, than curving or 
inventing curves, and some of the most effective pitch- 
ing is by angles rather than by curves. For some rea- 
son, unexplained, the deadly "cross fire" used with 
wonderful effect fifteen years ago, almost has been 
abandoned. The left-handers of former generations 
"cross fired" almost as often as they curved the ball 
and many right-handers used it. The ball was pitched 
sidearm, the hand being extended as far as possible, 
and while the pitcher's hand was swinging he stepped 
to right or left in the direction of his pitching arm and 
hurled the ball back across the inside corner of the 
plate, at an angle. The balk rules caused the left-hand- 
ers to abandon the pitch partially, and the passing of 
the side arm right-handers, probably explains its aban- 
donment. Pfiester, Leifield, "Doc" White and Krause 
use the ball effectively but not frequently. 

Pitching from angles consists in angling the ball 
from high overhand to the batter's knee, from the 
pitcher's knee to the batter's shoulder and from the 
limit of the outstretched arm to the outside corner of 
the plate. One of the best exhibitions of pitching by 
angles ever given was in the now famous game between 
Chicago and New York in September, 1908, in which 
Merkle forgot to touch second base. Pfiester had 



116 TOUCHING SECOND 

strained a ligament in his pitching arm, and a lump had 
formed on his forearm two inches high, the muscle 
bunching. He could not bend his arm, and to pitch 
a curve brought agony. He could pitch straight balls 
and he asked Chance to let him try, as he always had 
been successful against the Giants. During the game 
he pitched three curved balls, all to Donlin, and all 
when he had to retire Donlin on strikes to save the 
game. After each time he curved the ball he had to 
be helped to the bench, as he was nearly fainting. By 
changing the angles he kept New York from winning 
until the famous mixup in which Merkle figured. 

Shadowing the ball, which was an art in former 
days, is almost lost. A few pitchers try it, but with- 
out the skill of Bert Cunningham, Mattie Kilroy, Wil- 
lie McGill and many of the old school. Griffith was 
the last pitcher to use it steadily. Shadowing consists 
of the pitcher sidestepping and placing his body on the 
line of the batter's vision, so that the ball has no back- 
ground except the pitcher's body and the batter cannot 
see it plainly until the ball almost is upon him. 

There was an odd instance of shadowing early in 
1909 at Cincinnati. Reulbach was pitching for Chi- 
cago and a green umpire was officiating on the bases, 
with whom Reulbach became friendly. When no one 
was on bases Reulbach invited the new umpire to 
watch how his fast curve was breaking. That brought 
the umpire behind the pitcher, and Reulbach maneu- 
vered him around until he was on the line of vision. 
For five innings the umpire helped beat Cincinnati, 




Kranse, after loosing a slow floatei 



PITCHING 117 

nor did he discover why Reulbach was so friendly un- 
til the veteran umpire behind the bat ordered him to 
quit shadowing the ball and Reulbach laughed. 

The study of backgrounds, air currents, and atmos- 
pheric conditions by pitchers is part of their business. 
They take advantage of every bad background, which 
may hamper the batters, and shift from side to side 
on the slab to make the ball come to the batter on a 
line with some blinding sign. The batters, being in the 
majority on each team, however, insist upon good solid 
green backgrounds to increase hitting, and overrule 
the pitchers who prefer glaring yellow, or white, or a 
motley of colors. 

The direction and force of the wind affect pitching 
greatly. A cross wind from either direction may de- 
cide whether a left-hander or a right-hander will pitch. 
The weight of the atmosphere affects the curves and 
scouts looking for pitchers at Denver or Colorado 
Springs 'know that the curve balls in that altitude will 
curve hardly half as far as at sea level. 

Al Orth was a student of such conditions. He was 
pitching for Philadelphia one hot day and was winning 
easily up to the seventh inning. The Philadelphia Na- 
tional grounds are surrounded by high walls and 
stands and scarcely a breath of wind enters them. In 
the seventh inning Orth suddenly lost control. His 
"thumb bair* kept breaking away from the plate, he 
gave several bases on balls, and before New York was 
retired, the Giants were within one run of a tie. Orth 
was puzzled. As he started for the bench, where the 



118 TOUCHING SECOND 

manager was ordering another pitcher to warm up, he 
stopped, looked around, wetted a finger, held it in the 
air and grinned. 

"Have those doors under the stand closed and FU 
win this game," remarked Orth to the manager. 

The doors were closed, Orth regained control and 
won without trouble. 

The great exit doors under the stand had been 
opened, preparatory to letting the crowd disperse, and 
a half gale of wind, blov/ing around the stands, was 
driving Orth's underhand ball off its course. 

In 1909 Mordecai Brown thought he had discovered 
a new curve, which he executed by releasing the ball 
with a sharp jerk of the wrist, while his hand was near 
his hip. He used it repeatedly in one game, the ball 
breaking down and in sharply and faster than his 
"fadeaway'' would do. He started to practice it the 
next day and it would not work. He persisted for 
days, then he discovered that, when the wind was blow- 
ing from the southeast, moderately hard, he could 
pitch the ball. The curve was the result of the angle 
at which the wind was striking the circular stands. 

The science of baseball pitching cannot all be known 
by one man, or by one team, as every pitcher has his 
own theories, and tricks, but this will show there is 
more to it than throwing a ball sixty feet. 



CHAPTER VIII 

THE "INSIDE GAME"* 

Once the City Editor sent me (Fullerton) to a meet- 
ing of an engineering society to report a lecture. In 
the course of his remarks the lecturer said: "At a 
distance of 185 miles this force, roughly speaking, is 
one two hundred and forty millionth part of a watt." 
Fearing he might begin to speak gently I decamped, 
but ever since then I have regretted that I did not stay 
and sign that rough-spoken gentleman to work out 
the mathematics of baseball. 

I know that it is ninety feet from first base to second 
base, ninety feet from second base to third base, and 
that a baseball batted between those points is fair. 
I know that approximately 20 out of every 100 balls 
batted fair during the season are "safe hits." I know 
that of 1,284 ground balls batted during the season of 
1909 in the American and National Leagues (1,284 
chosen at random) 138 got past the infielders. I know 
that infielders of the National League (pitchers not in- 
cluded) fielded 9,382 ground balls errorlessly during 
the season of 1909. But how many millionths of a 
watt constitutes the chances of a hit being safe I can- 
not figure out. The average speed of fifty ground balls 
hit in three games during which three of us held twen- 
tieth-of-a-second watches we calculated to be 100 feet 

•Reprinted from THE AMERICAN MAGAZINE and copyrighted by It. Additions 
and corrections by Evers. 

119 



120 TOUCHING SECOND 

in one and three twentieth seconds. We know that the 
third baseman plays ordinarily 88 to 96 feet from the 
home plate, that the short stop playing "middling 
deep" is about 130 feet from the batter, that the second 
baseman is about two feet closer, and the first base- 
man 90 feet from the batter when a runner is on first 
base and 102 when no one is on bases. Given the speed 
and direction of the ball and the speed of the player, 
it is possible to figure to a millionth of a watt where 
his hands will meet the ball, but just as you start to 
write Q. E. D. the ball will take a bad bound. Given 
the average speed of the infielders, it would be possi- 
ble to calculate beforehand approximately the number 
of base hits each team will make in a season — if the 
players were automatons. 

The study of geometrical baseball is interesting in 
itself. Every ball player knows there are five ''infield 
grooves" and four "outfield grooves," spaces between 
fielders where any ball hit with moderate force will 
be "safe" unless a marvelous stop intervenes. It is 
certain that the first base groove is a foot and a half 
wide at first base, and widens gradually through the 
outfield. There is a space 7^ feet wide between the 
territories covered by the first and second basemen 
through which the ball ought to be able to escape, as 
neither man can move fast enough to reach it. There 
is a gap in the defense directly over second base yYi 
feet wide which is safe territory unless the pitcher, at 
the risk of his life, blocks the ball as it tries to pass 



THE "INSIDE GAME" 121 

him. The gap between the short stop and third base- 
man is 8j^ feet wide, a foot wider than between the 
first and second baseman, because the ball goes faster 
in that direction, and the space between the third base- 
man's extreme limit of finger reach and the foul line 
is a foot and a half. Therefore, to get back to mil- 
lionths of watts, as there is 26^ feet of ground un- 
guarded out of 180 feet of defensible territory, Mr. 
Watt would argue that one ball in every 6 4/25 hit 
on the ground at an average speed of i 3/20 seconds 
for 100 feet will be safe. The fact is that, in the major 
leagues, only about one in 16 gets past. Why? 

In the season of 1909 I arranged with scorers to 
record hits of various kinds and secured the scores 
thus kept on 40 Central League games, 26 American 
Association games, and fourteen college games, to 
compare with major league scores kept in the same 
manner. In the college games one grounder in every 
81/3 passed the infielders. In the Central League one 
in 10 7/12, in the American Association one in 
12 2/43, and in the American and National Leagues 
(45 games of my own scoring) one in every 15 3/10. 
The figures were amazing, as they followed so closely 
the classification of the leagues. They proved that 
there is reason for the "class," but the proof is not 
found in mathematics, but in two words (unless you 
hyphenate them), "team work." 

The truth is that the figures were truthful when 
baseball was in its swaddling clothes, but they lie egre- 
giously now. The falsity of baseball mathematics is 



122 TOUCHING SECOND 

that the gaps in the infield exist just as wide as ever, 
but are closed by team work. The college player who 
reaches 8 in 9 grounders, may be faster than the major 
league player who gets his hands on 16 out of 17, but 
he does not understand the science of filling the grooves. 

The best testimonial to the ability of Johnny Evers, 
of the Chicago club, to fill these grooves was given on 
the bench of an opposing team last summer. 

"Hit 'em where they ain't," growled one player to 
another who had just been thrown out by Evers. 

*T do; but he's always there," retorted the other. / 

This science of defensive work which enables four 
men to cover 180 feet of ground is the most fascinat- 
ing part of modern baseball. It has become so intricate 
and involved that the spectator at a game of baseball 
between two highly developed teams really does not 
see the game at all. He sees the plays, the stops, the 
throws, the catches. He sees men shift and swing, 
change position, move forward, move back, move to 
the right or left, and then move back again, but all the 
beauty of the inside game is lost to him, nor does he 
imagine that behind each move is the master mind of a 
field general. The spectator yells himself purple in the 
face because Johnson fumbles a grounder and wonders 
why the manager don't "release that big stiff" for fum- 
bling. Then he sits indignantly striving to imagine 
why the manager is plastering language upon Smith 
for failing to stop a ball he "couldn't have got any- 
how." 



THE "INSIDE GAME" 



123 




Diagram indicating territory where line hits ought to go safe. 
Calculations are made on the basis of the velocity of the ball 
being one and a half seconds per loo feet and the speed of the 
players as six seconds for every 50 yards. 

A, B, D, E, F — Mark line drive grooves through the infield. 

L, C, R (i) — Ground covered by outfielders. 

In the territory marked 2, line hits will normally be safe. 



124 TOUCHING SECOND 

"Inside baseball" is merely the art of getting the hits 
that "he couldn't have got anyhow." 

Now watch this play closely. See whether or not 
you can discover what is going on. Pat Moran 
stoops behind the batter and hides his right hand back 
of his mitt. Ed Reulbach, pitcher, shakes his head 
affirmatively. Johnny Evers stoops, pats his hand in 
the dust, touches it to his knee and rests it upon his 
hip. Jimmy Sheckard trots twenty feet across left field 
angling in toward the diamond. Steinfeldt creeps 
slowly to his left; Tinker moves toward second base 
and Evers takes four or five steps back and edges to- 
ward Chance, who has backed up five feet. Reulbach 
pitches a fast ball high and on the out corner of the 
plate. Mike Mitchell hits it. The crowd yells in sud- 
den apprehension. The ball seems a sure hit — going 
fast toward right field. Evers runs easily over, stops 
the ball, tosses it to Chance and Mitchell is out. _ 

You saw all that. The ball was hit in "the groove" 
directly at the 7>^ foot gap the geometrician will say 
is vacant, yet Evers fielded it. Now this is what hap- 
pened ; when Moran knelt down he put the index finger 
of his right hand straight down, then held it horizon- 
tally on the top of his mitt. Evers saw that Moran had 
signaled Reulbach to pitch a fast ball high and outside 
the plate. He rubbed his hand in the dirt, signaling 
Tinker, who patted his right hand upon his glove, re- 
plying he understood. Then Evers rested his hand 
upon his hip, signaling Sheckard, the outfield captain, 
what ball was to be pitched. Sheckard crept toward 



THE "INSIDE GAME*' 125 

the spot where Mitchell would hit that kind of a ball 
95 out of lOO times. While Reulbach was *' winding 
up," swinging his arm to throw the ball, Evers called 
sharply to Chance (whose good ear is toward him), 
and Tinker called to Steinfeldt. While Reulbach's 
arm was swinging every man in the team was moving 
automatically toward right field, in full motion before 
Mitchell hit the ball. The gaps at first base, between 
first base and second, over second base and between 
third and short, were closed hermetically, while the gap 
between Steinfeldt and the third base line was opened 
up 22 feet. The ball, if hit on the ground, had no 
place to go except into some infielder's hands, unless 
Reulbach blundered and Mitchell "pulled" the ball 
down the third base gap. Every man on the team 
knew if Reulbach pitched high, fast and outside, 
Mitchell would hit toward right field. The only 
chance Mitchell had to hit safe was to drive the ball 
over the head of the outfielders, or hit it on a line over 
7 feet and less than 1 5 feet above the ground. If Reul- 
bach had been ordered to pitch low and over the plate, 
or low and inside, or a slow ball, the team would have 
shifted exactly in the opposite way. 

Every club worthy the name uses the same system, 
but it is in the major leagues that it reaches its highest 
perfection. That is the explanation of the fact that 
college players stop eight out of nine grounders and 
big leaguers stop 15 out of 16 or thereabout. There 
is not much difference in the mechanical ability of 



126 TOUCHING SECOND 

players in the minor and major leagues, and the man- 
agers are men of almost equal experience, but the ma- 
jor league teams remain together year after year, while 
the minor league managers are forced to make an al- 
most new team each season and teach the system to 
many recruits. The Milwaukee American Associa- 
tion team probably played as intricate and involved 
inside baseball in 1909 as any team ever did and it came 
near winning the pennant. "Stoney" McGlynn, the 
veteran pitcher, was chiefly responsible. McGlynn 
"hasn't much" (which means he does not pitch great 
curves and possesses little speed), but he can ''put 'em 
where he wants to," and with a team behind him 
trained well enough to know every ball he pitches and 
to move in the direction the ball will be hit he is a great 
pitcher. With a broken up infield he is bad. 

The system of signaling used by major league teams 
is so involved that it requires constant thought and a 
good memory to follow the signals, even after know- 
ing them. No team dares use the same signals for any 
length of time. Some players become so skillful in 
detecting the signals of opponents that they sometimes 
compel the other club to change them two or three times f 
during a game. 

To show how complicated the system is, the Chicago 
Cubs catchers each have five signals which are plainly 
visible to the second baseman and short stop. If the 
pitcher gives the signal, the catcher repeats it by a dif- 
ferent code. The catcher uses his hands, feet, knees 
or eyes in signaling. The commonest code is one finger 



THE "INSIDE GAME 



127 



Right 



,.<i^ 





\ «« / .- 




"•oN ' '--' 


.....v.: 


;V|ib;-; 17' 


^,''' 


*''' !^'»**^'s. / 


0^'' 


' 1 \ ''''^:. / 






' 


•-* \ >^ 




1 " \ >^ 








: \ >^ 



Left 



Diagram showing the relative distances an infielder covers 
in fielding balls of equal speed — calculated on the basis of the 
fielder's ability to move twenty feet to his right. 

in various positions for a straight ball, two fingers for 
a curve, a snapping of the thumb for a spit ball, a closed 
fist for a slow ball and the palm out if he wants a "pitch 
out," the ball being thrown wide to prevent the batter 
from hitting it when the defensive side suspects or 
knows a hit and run play is to be attempted. Some- 
times the signal is given by the position of the feet. 
Schmidt of Detroit, using hands to signal when the 
bases are clear, signals with his eyes when runners are 
on bases, also using his hands to deceive them. In the 
World's Series between Detroit and Pittsburg last year 
Tommy Leach of Pittsburg tipped off Schmidt's sig- 
nals repeatedly by guessing that when Smith signaled 
one thing with his hands he was flashing the opposite 
signal with his eyes. 

The second baseman and short stop see the catcher's 
signal and verify it by signaling to each other, decid- 
ing which is to cover second base. Also the intention 
of the pitcher is signaled to every member of the team. 

One would think that the batter would notice the 



128 TOUCHING SECOND 

shifting of position and know what was to be pitched. 
He is, however, too intent on watching the pitcher to 
see anything else and, besides, the full motion of the 
defensive team is not noticeable until the pitcher starts 
to pitch, and then it is too late for the batter to realize 
anything except that the ball is coming. The coachers 
see the movement and half the time call out to the bat- 
ter "Fast" or "Curve," but he does not hear until the 
ball is past him. 

If you doubt this, try some day to see what becomes 
of the bat when a batter hits the ball and you will real- 
ize how hard it is to watch anything except the ball. 

In addition the second baseman and short stop have 
a code of their own, consisting of two signals, given 
with the hands, feet, arms or eyes, — sometimes by 
spoken words that are meaningless to any one else, — 
by which they understand which one is to take throws 
at second base. The manager also has his private set 
of signals by which he directs the movements of the 
team. Each man on the defensive infield has at least 
nine signals he must remember, most of which are 
changed, in meaning at least, every day. Each batter 
has six, three with the three preceding batters and 
three with the three men following him, making four- 
teen signals a day, besides the ones used by the man- 
ager. The second baseman and short stop have from 
20 to 24 signals to keep in mind, most of which are 
changed every day and sometimes three times during 
a game. In 1909, when the hint had gone through 
the American League that the New York team was 








{^ 







?*^. 



Napoleon Lajoie passing a signal to a batter. What does the 
position of his left hand mean? 



THE "INSIDE GAME" 129 

stealing signals, the Chicago White Sox changed sig- 
nals nine times in one game, no signal meaning the 
same thing in any two innings. 

There is no betrayal of secrets to explain how these 
signals are used or what they are, since they are 
changed so often that they may mean anything. Chance 
usually signals for a runner to try to steal by changing 
places with some one on the bench. He orders hit and 
run plays by looking over the bats. He orders double 
steals by lifting his cap and sometimes varies this by 
using the names of players. If he calls "Sheckard" he 
means steal, if "Schulte," hit and run, if "Hofman," go 
on the first ball. 

Trained watchers at baseball games, men who have 
scored and reported hundreds of games, seldom observe 
the signals or understand what is happening. In one 
game a Chicago player, in defiance of Chance's orders, 
insisted upon remaining at first base after receiving an 
order to steal. Possibly the runner thought the oppos- 
ing pitcher had caught the signal and was watching 
him too closely. Whatever the reason he did not run. 
The batter allowed two strikes to go over without mov- 
ing to hit the ball. The crowd was howling at the bat- 
ter, who was obeying orders, and the batter happened 
to be Steinfeldt, whose name that day was being used 
as the signal to steal. Chance was yelling: "Stein- 
feldt," "Steiny," "Steinfeldt," at the top of his voice 
and a veteran baseball man remarked : 

"What is Chance yelling at Steiny for? He's play- 
ing the game. He ought to yell at that lobster on first." 



130 TOUCHING SECOND 

But the signals used in attack have nothing to do 
with infield defensive work beyond showing how com- 
plicated the system is and how much the players must 
remember. 

This infield defense involves much beyond knowing 
the signals. Its primary object is to enable the players 
to start before the ball is hit, as half the time required 
to reach a ball fifteen feet to one side is occupied in 
starting. The faster the second baseman can go to the 
left, and the short stop to the right, the closer they can 
play to second base, reducing the gap there without 
widening the others. The strength of arm of the short 
stop is another important factor in closing the gaps, for 
the deeper he can play the narrower the gap. With every 
foot he moves backward he gains a foot of territory. 
Also it must be remembered that every runner who 
reaches a base "ties up" one of the defense's players. 
On reaching first base, he forces the baseman to re- 
main on the bag, and widens the right field gap by six 
feet at least. Runners on first and second tie up two 
men, and when this is the case and there is but one out, 
and a bunt expected or feared, the entire infield is "tied 
up" and the chances of the ball being batted safe are 
more than doubled. 

The primary o>bject in signaling is to enable the de- 
fensive players to start in the direction the ball is ex- 
pected to be hit, and this is more important when run- 
ners are on bases than at other times. A player in mo- 
tion can travel twelve feet while one who is "flat- 
footed" when the ball is hit is getting under way. If 



THE "INSIDE GAME 



131 




How runners on the bases "tie up" the fielders and make 
base hits more likely. Solid black dots indicate positions of 
players when bases are unoccupied. Circles show positions of 
mfielders when runners are on first and second bases and the 
second baseman and short stop are "holding" the runner close 
to second. 



132 TOUCHING SECOND 

the pitcher blunders, disaster results, as the players in 
motion seldom can recover and field the ball if it is 
hit in the opposite direction. It is in that respect that 
"control" is the greatest element in a pitcher's success. 
But it is ability to hit all around the field that makes 
great batters. Men like Lajoie, Wagner, Leach, Evers 
and the late "Cozy" Dolan, who can "pull, push, and 
poke" — ^that is, twist their bats and hit in unexpected 
directions — break up the inside game and win many 
contests. 

I always shall believe that Detroit lost the World's 
Championship of 1909 either through bad infield sig- 
naling or through too much signaling from the bench. 
Detroit's system is rather intricate and confusing be- 
cause Jennings continually signals from the bench and 
the coaching lines. His signals to batters are given 
with hands during his famous grass-pulling, and with 
his legs while doing his famous "E-yah" act. From 
the bench, however, he uses sometimes spoken words, 
sometimes signals with his hands. I may be mistaken 
and some of his men wrong in charging the Tiger 
leader with the fatal blunders of the series. He may 
have given orders and the pitchers may have failed to 
get the ball where he wanted it to go, or the Pittsburg 
players may have performed the seemingly impossible 
and hit balls in the wrong direction. However that 
may be, Leach upset the entire defensive infield work 
of the Tigers. On three occasions, Moriarity was 
running in fast when Leach, who was at bat, drove 
the ball past him, and once Bush was moving to cover 



THE "INSIDE GAME" 133 

second when the ball went down "the groove." Four 
of Wagner's long hits in the series were to left field 
and two of them at least were made off balls that 
were ordered to be pitched outside whether they were 
or not. 

It is rather unfair to criticize infield work by exhibi- 
tions given in a series in which every man is strained 
to the limit and with immense crowds cheering and 
restricting the playing space, but the inside work of 
both Pittsburg and Detroit in the series was ragged 
and seemed to be wrong on many occasions. On two 
occasions, Bush and Delehanty were going in opposite 
directions when the ball was hit. 

There is no play on the diamond in which the impor- 
tance of infield signaling is so openly demonstrated to 
spectators as when a runner on first and another on 
third base are planning to attempt a double steal, 
either straight or delayed. When that situation arises 
short stop and second basemen exchange signals decid- 
ing which shall cover the base and which shall "cut 
in," which means, meet the throw before it gets to the 
base in order to return it to the catcher immediately 
should the runner at third start for home. Almost 
every team makes the play solely with regard to the 
strength of arm of the short stop or second base- 
man and the throwing force of the catcher. If the 
short stop has a "whip" strong enough to throw back 
the full distance, he covers second and the second base- 
man guards his territory. If either has a weak arm, 
the other runs in to meet the throw. Every player 



134 TOUCHING SECOND 

watches sharply for the exchange of signals from 
bench, from the coachers, batter and the basemen 
themselves and, if the signal is caught, the catcher 
instantly orders the ball "pitched out" high and fast 
in the best position for making a fast hard throw. 

To show how closely the two teams watch each other 
in that situation : Cincinnati was playing Chicago with 
Frank Roth catching for the former team. Runners 
were on first and third. Roth signaled to the pitcher 
for a curve; Chance saw the signal and flashed a de- 
layed double steal order. Huggins caught that signal, 
the Reds switched positions rapidly, and Roth signed 
for a pitch-out. The pitch-out signal was detected by 
Kane, who was coaching, and Chance signaled for a 
change. The result was the runners held their bases, 
and the pitcher wasted a ball. Roth signaled again, 
the infield changed, and Chance ordered the delayed 
steal. Roth was warned and ordered another pitch- 
out, but no sooner had he flashed that signal and 
Chance had ordered another wait, than Roth ordered 
a fast straight ball pitched, thinking to out-guess 
Chance. But as Roth changed his signal Chance, 
guessing he would do exactly that thing, signaled a 
hit and run, with the result that a base hit tore through 
the infield and broke up the game. 

The great danger to the defense on the double steal 
is that unless a pitch-out is certain both the short stop 
and second baseman are running to a line between 
home and second base and gaps 35 feet wide are left on 
both sides of the pitcher if the batter elects to hit. 



THE "INSIDE GAME 



135 



••'.»* 



/ 



Diagram showing the angles at which the first baseman and 
second baseman naturally move in trying to intercept a hard bit 
ground ball passing between them. 



136 TOUCHING SECOND 

Consequently, if the attacking team decides to play hit 
and run instead of the double steal, and the defend- 
ers have been led to expect an attempt at the latter play, 
the chances of the batter hitting safe are tripled. 

Late in the season, after the men know each other 
and the opponents perfectly, the infielders frequently 
discard the signals, having become so famihar with the 
plays and the style of making them that they know 
exactly what to do without signaling. Evers and 
Tinker of Chicago play entire games with looking at 
each other except when an unknown batter comes up 
to hit. 

But to get back to that millionth of a watt and the 
geometry of the game. The average "fan" thinks 
that about four out of every batter hit fly balls. Man- 
agers growl all the time for the batters to "hit 'em on 
the ground," the theory being that more hits go safe 
on the ground than in the air. It is true more run- 
ners reach first base on ground hits than on fly balls, 
but the percentage of safe hits largely favoirs aerial 
batting. This is because so many grounders are fum- 
bled and so few flies muffed. 

This involves another study of angles, and an en- 
tirely new departure in infield defensive work. To dis- 
cover what proportion of balls are hit on the ground, 
I took a mass of score books and classified 10,000 bat- 
ted balls, every team in the National and American 
Leagues being represented in the figures. Really I 
scored 10,074 plays, because the number ran over unex- 
pectedly and I did not know which 74 to deduct. Of 



THE "INSIDE GAME" 



137 



^*c 



^::::.^. 



— f 



"*D 



W 



V 






Ml 



w 



p 



Diagram showing positions taken by infielders for different plays 

A— Normal position. 

B — Positions on bunt towards first base. 

C — Positions on bunt towards third b^se. 

D — Positions on attempted double steal from first to second 

and third to home with short stop taking the throw. 
E — Same with second baseman taking the ball. 
F — Positions when right field hitter is at bat. 
G — Positions when left field hitter is at bat. 
H — Infi*ld pulled in to catch runner at plate. 



138 TOUCHING SECOND 

them, 3,602 were fly balls, 5,171 were grounders, 344 
were bunts, and 957 line drives, as distinguished from 
flies. Of the 10,074 balls batted, 2,067 were scored as 
base hits. Of the 3,602 fly balls, 747 fell safe and only 
18 were muffed, which shows that the fielders catch 
almost everything they get their hands upon. Of the 
5,171 ground balls, 424 were scored hits. Of the 344 
bunts, 155 went safe, and of those 155 the fielders got 
their hands on 114. Of the 957 line drives, 741 re- 
sulted in safe hits. 

But to show the ground-covering ability of the in- 
fielders further calculation is necessary. In scoring, I 
place a small "T" above hits I believe too hard to 
handle, and a small "D" over hits which are doubtful 
either through bad bounding of the ball or other cause. 
Of the 424 hits through the infield, 162 were marked 
"T" and 49 were marked "D." So the players reached 
the ball 211 times and failed to field it; and of the 213 
times the ball went through untouched 46 were plain 
hit and run plays in which fielders were going the 
wrong way, in other words, blundering or being out- 
generaled by the batsman. 

Out of the 5,171 grounders the players actually 
reached all except 213, or about .041 per cent., whereas 
on the natural chances of covering the ground they 
should have reached only about 800 per cent, instead of 
959 per cent, of batted balls. The figures seem to 
show that by team work they were enabled to get in 
touch with 159 per cent, more batted balls than the 
geometry of the diamond would indicate. 



THE "INSIDE GAME" 139 

The geometry of the game becomes more complex 
the deeper it is studied. Not only must the players on 
the infield know when to start in a given direction, but 
they must know exactly what angle to take to meet 
each ball. Further, they must change the angle to 
meet the running speed of each batter. If, for in- 
stance, "Larry" McLean, of Cincinnati, hits the ball, a 
second baseman will run backward, his path and the 
path of the ball meeting in an acute angle. If Miller 
Huggins is the batter he will run forward, making the 
lines meet in an obtuse angle. Moreover, they know 
to a nicety just where they must meet a ball of any 
given speed, and they start there almost instinctively. 
Oddly enough, the men can go much faster toward 
certain points than toward others, even when they are 
of equal speed, and they can, if they judge the speed 
of the ball and the runner, close up the gaps still further 
by reaching the spot in the ball's path toward which 
they can travel fastest. But all that is mechanical and 
habitual. It is the inside game which calls the brain 
into play to extend the reach of the arms. 

Therefore, as Mr. Euclid, who invented diamonds, 
would say : If X covers 24 feet with his arms and legs 
and 18 with his brain, Y, the base- runner, is out, pro- 
vided Z, the umpire, does not call him safe. Q. E. D. 



CHAPTER IX 

OUTFIELDING 

An English cricketer, a man renowned in his own 
country who had played for his county many years 
and was considered one of the best bats in all England, 
was sitting in the stands at the Polo Grounds, New 
York, watching his first baseball game. A batter hit 
a long, high fly to center field and Seymour jogging 
over unconcernedly, caught the ball and tossed it back 
to the infield. 

"Bravo! Bravo! Well caught! Well caught!" 
shouted the Englishman, clapping his hands. 

His companion, an American, flushed with em- 
barrassment while all the spectators in that part of the 
stand roared with laughter. The Englishman could 
not understand why the spectators regarded him as they 
would have a man who applauded during the death 
scene in a play. 

From an American standpoint, the Englishman's out- 
burst showed merely ignorance of the game, while as 
a matter of fact it proved that American crowds have 
become blase. The spectators take for granted really 
wonderful catches and unless the outfielder is compelled 
to climb a tree, turn a double somersault, leap over a ten 
foot bleacher fence, or do something equally sensa- 
tional, he scarcely attracts attention. The viewpoint 
of the Englishman really was the proper one. He 

140 



OUTFIELDING 141 

realized that Seymour had performed a difficult feat and 
was applauding the skill of the American player in 
catching fly balls. He had watched cricketers ludi- 
crously pursuing easy pop ups and floundering all over 
themselves in the effort to catch them, while the Ameri- 
cans, accustomed to seeing nearly every fly caught, re- 
garded the feat as commonplace. 

The marvelous work of the outfielders is perhaps the 
least appreciated part of the National game. Figures 
will prove how wonderful the fielding is. The fact is 
that any batted ball which remains in the air three and 
a quarter seconds will be caught unless it is hit over 
some fence, crowd, or stand. Ninety-nine out of lOO 
fly 'balls that stay in the air three seconds will be caught. 
In fact any fly ball, unless a sharp line fly hit in an 
unexpected direction, or one hit far over the head of a 
player, will be caught in nine cases out of ten. So 
accustomed have the scorers become to seeing fly balls 
caught that whenever the ball is hit into the air, the 
men who record the plays score the put out to the fielder 
before the ball strikes his hands, and when a fly is 
muffed, they are the last to see what has happened. 
Further, while often lenient with the infielders on 
fumbles, they charge the outfielder with errors no mat- 
ter how far he may run, or what position he may be in, 
if the ball strikes his hands. They expect him to 
catch every ball he can get his hands upon. 

Out of one thousand fly balls batted in games in the 
American and National Leagues during the season of 
1909 (games chosen at random from score books) all 
except 27 were caught and nine of these were mis- 



142 TOUCHING SECOND 

judged either because of the glare of the sun, the bad 
background or heavy shadows under the stands caused 
the outfielders to start in the wrong direction so they 
were unable to recover in time to catch the ball. Only 
five were plain mufifs. Dozens of outfielders go through 
entire seasons without missing any ball upon which 
they can lay their hands. 

Catching flies is the least part of the work of out- 
fielders. They must not only be able to catch fly balls, 
but catch them in position to make a throw the instant 
the ball touches the hands. They must have strength 
of arm, accuracy and absolute knowledge of the angles 
of the field and they must throw on the line and make 
the ball bound accurately into the hands of the catcher 
or baseman. 

Primarily the outfielder must know the "inside game" 
as well as does the infielder, although not called upon 
to get into the play as often. He can make more mis- 
takes and be more careless, but he should make as close 
a study of batters and base runners and watch the 
signals. If he is to succeed he must have an intuitive 
sense of direction, keen hearing, a quick eye; must 
make a study of backgrounds and take advantage of 
every light and shadow. 

The "grooves" in the outfield are two in number, 
their width depending upon the positions and speeds of 
the outfielders. They run from a point directly behind 
the positions of the short stop and second basemen be- 
tween the outfielders, widening rapidly after passing 
the line between the fielders. Down these "grooves" any 



OUTFIELDING 



143 



\ 



\ ^. 



\ 



\ 



l30 



lao* 



\ 



N / 
/ 



y 



\ 

Diagram showing territory covered by fielders. The object 
of this diagram is to show the relative speed of players in various 
directions. The outfielders' ground covered is calculated on the 
speed of the men being 50 yards in six seconds and the ball 
being in the air three seconds. The infielder's ground is cal- 
culated on the same speed per man, fielding balls hit at a velocity 
of 100 feet in one and a half seconds. Note that an outfielder 
-can run 130 feet to his right but only 120 feet to his left in 
the same time, as he starts quicker to the right. 

B — First baseman's territory. 

D — Second baseman's territory. 

E — Short stop's range. 

F — Third baseman's territory. 

J — Catcher's ground on bunts. 

G — Pitcher's territory on bunts and sharp grounders. 

K, M, N, O, P — Foul territory covered on three-second fouls. 

L, C, R— Outfielders' territory. 



144 TOUCHING SECOND 

hard hit ball is certain to go safe unless the fielder has 
anticipated the direction of the hit. He must do this 
either through knowledge of where the batter usually 
hits or through signals informing him what kind of ball 
the pitcher is going to pitch, from which he can judge 
the general direction in which the batter is likely to hit. 

Intimate knowledge of batters, where they hit and 
how, is the primer of the outfielder. Each man must 
know how hard Fred Clarke, a left handed batter, is 
likely to hit a left handed pitcher's fast curve towards 
left field, and how hard he will pull the ball to right if 
it is pitched inside the plate. The left fielder must 
know that he must play fifty feet nearer the diamond 
when Keeler is batting than when Cobb faces the 
pitcher. Every batter in the entire league must be 
played in the same manner and the range of an out- 
fielder in one game frequently is one hundred feet be- 
tween his inside and his outside distances. Frequently, 
of course, a batter will hit where he is not expected to 
hit, but if the fielder is playing correctly no criticism is 
offered. It is regarded as one of the inevitable hap- 
penings. 

Jimmy Slagle, for years regarded as one of the great- 
est judges of batters and the direction of their hits, 
went wrong one season. It was not because his judg- 
ment was at fault but because, for weeks and weeks, 
batters hit exactly where they seemed least likely to hit. 
The same thing happened to Sheckard of Chicago in 
1909, and Mike Mitchell, of Cincinnati, in 1908. 
Sheckard, after a phenomenal mn of these accidents. 



OUTFI ELDING 145 

at the close of an inning one day took off his glove, 
closed his eyes and whirling around and around, let the 
glove fly. 

''What's that for, Sheck?" called one of his team 
mates. 

"I'm getting so I'm always wrong calling the turn on 
where batters will hit," he replied, "So I'm going to 
play wherever the glove lights." 

The following inning he played on the spot where he 
picked up the glove. He was fifty feet out of proper 
position for the batter, but that unlucky man drove a 
hard line fly straight into Sheckard's hands, and from 
that to the end of the season Sheckard guessed right. 
He claimed the scheme changed his luck. 

Different teams have widely varying systems of out- 
field play. Some play the "outside distance" on the 
theory that the fielders can come forward faster than 
they can go out after balls over their heads. Others 
play the "inside distance," on the theory that their 
throws will be more accurate and faster and that the 
number of short flies they will reach will more than 
offset the few long ones that will pass over their heads. 
Others play the middle distance and take chances both 
ways. The inside limit distance is more and more in 
favor among the thinking managers. 

The Boston American team of 1909 played the out- 
side limit all the time, but the speed of the outfielders 
saved the team. Pittsburg, playing the greatest shift- 
ing game of the year, used all the limits, changing their 
outfield distances with regard to the pitcher who was 



146 TOUCHING SECOND 

working for them. The Chicago National team played 
the "middle distance" and Detroit played the inside 
limit most of the time, although shifting frequently. 

Of course outfielders adapt their distances to 
their own weaknesses or strength. Some men can 
move forward with great speed and are un- 
certain either as to direction or distance on balls hit 
over them. With Cobb, Clarke, Schulte, Leach, Davy 
Jones and Speaker, the distance chosen amounts to lit- 
tle, as they can retrieve mistakes in judgment by speed 
of foot. With men like Lumley, Sheckard, and Craw- 
ford, who lack speed, the study of direction is much 
more necessary. They are compelled to make up by 
brainwork what they lack in fleetness to equal the work 
of their faster competitors. 

Willie Keeler, in his best days, was perhaps the 
greatest judge of where batters would hit that ever 
played, and in addition his quickness of perception gave 
him a running start after every fly ball. Walter Brodie, 
a great judge of fly balls, perhaps the greatest except 
O'Neill, could run with the ball, without looking, and 
catch it over his head, and he seemed to know from 
the crack of the bat exactly where the ball would land. 
"Big Bill" Lange had the same faculty of following 
balls hit over his head. "Kip" Selbach, in many re- 
spects nearly their equal, hardly could catch a ball that 
once went over him, and to defend himself he played the 
outside distance and came forward with wonderful 
speed. Clarke, leader of the Pittsburg World's Cham- 
pions in 1909, is the rare combination who can go in 



Hh^S' 




Harry Liimley, one of the brainiest of outfielders, after a 
throw to the plate. 



OUTFIELDING 147 

any direction, especially toward the foul line for curv- 
ing line drives. Cobb, although forced as a right fielder 
to follow curves in the false direction, almost is his 
equal in catching low line drives while going at top 
speed. 

How deeply outfielders make a study of backgrounds 
and other conditions affecting their fielding is little 
understood outside the profession. Nearly all grounds 
are laid out so that the batter hits from south-west to 
north-east, in order that the lowering sun in midsum- 
mer may interfere as little as possible with the out- 
fielders. But in games during late July, August and 
early September, the players work under a heavy hand- 
icap. After the middle of the game the sun, slanting 
over the top or through the stands and reflecting off 
them, glares into the faces of the fielders and gives the 
men in the outer line of defense much trouble. But 
the glare of the brassy sky, and the sun is not so much 
of a handicap as the heavy shadow that falls in front of 
the stands and stretches to the pitcher's box. The 
ball must rise out of this shadow before the fielder 
can gauge its flight accurately. In the construction of 
the modern skyscraper stands, the shadows have been 
deepened and greatly hamper the work of outfielders. 

The devices and ingenuity of players in striving to 
overcome this handicap are revelations as to their 
powers of observation and the fertility and quickness 
of their brains. One game between Pittsburg and New 
York in 1909 illustrates the point. McGraw had a 
mediocre outfield and knew it. He was unable to 



148 TOUCHING SECOND 

strengthen the outfield so he devised a plan which made 
his outfield at least as good as that of the opponents in 
the games played on the Polo Grounds. New stands had 
been erected, and McGraw ordered them painted a 
washed yellow, a bilious-hued, glaring, eye^racking 
yellow. The background offered by the stand was a 
desperate one against which to field, but McGraw had 
the satisfaction of knowing that the other fellows, no 
matter how much superior mechanically, could not de- 
rive much satisfaction from their superiority on that 
field. 

In the game with Pittsburg "Bull" McCormick was 
at bat and Clarke, in left field, seemed to be playing 
strangely out of position. He knew the direction of 
McCormick's hits off left-handed pitchers, yet he was 
playing nearly fifty feet from where he should have 
been. McCormick hit down the left line and Clarke 
was compelled to make a spectacular running catch to 
get the ball at all, although it would have been easy had 
he been in place. When criticised for misplaying the 
batter he grinned and explained. 

*'Did you ever notice," he said, still grinning, "that 
over by the New York bench, back of first base, there 
is a little gate ?" 

"No, what has that to do with it?" 

"Well, that gate is green. By moving around to- 
ward center field I could keep my eyes on that green 
gate. It rested the eyes and relieved them from the 
glare of the yellow, so I could see the ball the moment 
it was hit." 



OUTFIELDING 149 

Players ordinarily dislike to play when the crowd, 
moving and turning, makes a dark shifting background. 
They welcome hot days when the majority of the spec- 
tators remove their coats and the women wear light 
colors, affording a better background. There was a 
young woman in Chicago who became unpleasantly 
conspicuous because Schulte used her as a background 
for fly balls, and when she moved from the box which 
she always occupied Schulte mentioned the fact that her 
green gown had helped him play. She was a loyal 
rooter, and in spite of the publicity, returned to her 
post to help the team, but sad to relate, she missed the 
point and wore a new brown broadcloth. 

Green is the most restful color and many experiments 
have proved that it really aids both batting and field- 
ing. There is one scientific player in the major leagues 
who has such faith in green that he carries a square of 
green cardboard in his uniform and gazes at it occasion- 
ally in order to rest his eyes. 

Outfield throwing is one of the features of the 
modern game in which it is inferior to the game as 
played fifteen to twenty-five years ago. The reason is 
that outfielders of today do not practice distance throw- 
ing, preferring to save their arms. There are some fine 
and accurate throwers today, but probably not one who 
possesses the speed and accuracy of Jimmy Ryan, 
formerly one of Anson's champions. Ryan was left 
handed, and had the faculty of catching every ball in 
position and throwing with remarkable quickness, 
speed and accuracy. He threw to the plate from right 



150 TOUCHING SECOND 

field on the first bound, and twenty feet from first base, 
inside the diamond, he kept a Httle patch of the turf 
rolled smooth, watered and hardened. His throws 
were aimed at that prepared patch and off it the ball 
carromed like a shot into the hands of the catcher. 
Tommy McCarthy, in left field, threw to the plate, to 
first base, to second, and threw at every opportunity. 
Ryan and McCarthy after thirty years in baseball, still 
have good arms. Fifteen or twenty years ago out- 
fielders gave exhibitions of throwing to the plate before 
games, throwing from long distances. The Chicago 
White Stockings had a target at the plate at which they 
would throw in practice. This practice m.ade outfield 
throwing much more brilliant and effective than it is 
today. 

The mechanical requirements for successful outfield- 
ing are numerous enough, but the difference between 
outfielders seldom lies only in the mechanical abilities 
of the men. The chief difference is in the way in 
which they get into the team work, and close the gaps 
between the fields. Place the outfielders in their 
natural positions, that is, the center fielder directly on 
the line with the plate and second base, with the right 
and left fielders half way between him and the foul 
lines, and nearly every batter in the major leagues 
would be a 300 hitter. That shows the necessity of 
knowing all batters and shifting position with each 
pitched ball. The three fastest runners in the world 
cannot cover the ground between fielders on hits travel- 
ing 250 feet in two seconds, unless they have antici- 



OUTFIELDING 151 

pated the direction of the hit, shifted position with the 
pitch, and made the start before the ball was hit. 

If the outfielders know where a batter hits, what ball 
is being pitched, and make one step before the ball is 
hit, so as to be in motion, the gaps are closed. Against 
some rank right field hitters the fielders can shift until 
all three are playing within reach of almost any ball hit 
to right, while the only gap existing is perhaps lOO 
feet down the left field line, in which direction the bat- 
ter cannot hit the ball which is being pitched. With 
the man who hits all around the field the outfielder's 
only chance is to know just what the pitcher is using, 
for there are certain kinds of balls that are batted in 
certain directions and hardly can be hit any other 
where. 

Each outfield, therefore, has its captain, who takes 
the signal and transmits it to the other two, who 
shift positions according to his orders. Some outfield 
captains rely upon the keenness of their eyes to get the 
signal from the catchers, but when the opposing team 
is watching closely for signals this is impossible. The 
New York pitchers, for many seasons, reversed the 
process, and the pitchers pitched according to the posi- 
tions taken by the outfielders. Other teams have done 
the same on occasion, but the practice of centralizing 
the signaling so that every member of the team knows 
what is being done is regarded as better. 

The Pittsburg pitchers, because Manager Clarke is 
an outfielder, frequently take their cues from the posi- 
tion he assumes, and not infrequently during 1909, he 



152 TOUCHING SECOND 

signaled from the outfield to Gibson what ball to order 
pitched. Most outfielders, when they cannot get the 
signal for pitched balls, play entirely on their knowl- 
edge of the batsman. The Chicago Cubs originated 
the best system of any yet used. Sheckard, the out- 
field captain, received every ball and strike signal given, 
via Evers, who passed the signal of the catcher to 
Sheckard by varying positions of his hand upon his 
hip. Sheckard declares the signals contributed greatly 
to the work of the outfield. 

When, in spite of all these precautions, the ball 
breaks through the outfield and goes **down the 
groove," perfect understanding as to which fielder shall 
"chase," and which shall relay the ball back to the in- 
field is necessary, as a mistake or a second's delay will 
transform a three base hit into a home run; a double 
into a three bagger. The signal is passed in one word, 
and the one elected to chase, pursues the ball without 
question, although he may return swearing. 

Each outfielder has special difficulties with which to 
contend, and of the three, the work of the right fielder 
is, perhaps, the most difficult. The reason for that is that 
balls hit towards right field curve sharply in the air 
and compel the fielder to extend his territory far over 
the foul line. The curve of the balls hit by right 
banders toward right field is especially troublesome. 
The left fielder 'has the difficulty in lesser degree. In 
the modern development of the game the left fielder has 
come in for some added troubles, especially as the re- 
sult of the increasing skill of the left-handed batters 



OUTFIELDING 153 

in poking and shoving short flies over the infield into 
his territory. The center fielder has easier work as re- 
gards the curving of batted balls in the air, but he is 
required to cover more territory and to go in both 
directions. He has more chance to reach the home run 
drives "down the grooves." His chief trouble, how- 
ever, is with line flies so hard that the wind pressure 
is likely either to make them dart downward suddenly, 
or shoot upward on some heavier current of air, giving 
him more opportunities for misjudging hard hit balls. 
The study of air currents and wind directions is 
necessary for successful outfielding. The condition of 
the sky, the direction and force of the wind, whether it 
is steady or gusty, all are to be taken into consideration 
by the player before the game, and he must change 
positions with the force of the wind during the game. 
In one game in St. Louis in 1909, the wind blowing 
across the field, crowded the fielders further and fur- 
ther over until all three were on the right side of the 
direct line through center field. There is a saying in 
baseball that "A high sky, a head wind and a home 
umpire will beat any team," and the outfielders vouch 
for the truth of the adage. 



CHAPTER X 

BATTING 

Batting is the aggressive part of the game ; the true 
test of the nerve, courage and eye-speed of players, and 
the chief center of interest in every contest. 

The importance of batting has, it is true, been largely 
overestimated, and few even of the managers and own- 
ers who have sought in every part of the country for 
that rarest of players the "Three Hundred hitter," 
realize the change that has come over batting in the 
last decade. The veterans who lament the passing of 
the sluggers of the "good old days," the old timer who 
recalls times when six .300 batters played on one team, 
and the student who looks back over the records of the 
mighty men of the ash, all have the idea that present 
day batters are inferior to the old time sluggers. 

They are misled by figures. The batters of the 
modern game are better hitters, more scientific, and 
more effective than those of twenty or ten years ago. 
A close analysis of batsmen, their hits, and the re- 
sults of their hits, will prove the point. If further 
proof is needed it is to be found in the strange acts of 
managers who, after scouring the country to find a .300 
hitter, handicap him, restrain his batting, make a .250 
hitter of him, and then consider him a better batter 
than when, perhaps, he batted .325. 

The fact is, the batters of to-day are more scientific 

154 



BATTING 155 

and resourceful, know more about handling bats, and 
better how to attack the weak points, than their pre- 
decessors did. The difference is the same as that be- 
tween the slugging fighter, who rushed and pounded 
down his man by sheer strength, and the skilful boxer 
who, with one well directed blow, ends the battle. 

The reasons for the decline of the averages of safe 
hits, and the number of long hits, are varied. The 
pitching, it is known, has improved steadily and rap- 
idly, the defensive work of teams has been perfected 
until only a combination of terrific hitting power, skill, 
and luck will make any batter a .300 hitter. There 
were great pitchers in the old days; Clarkson, Keefe, 
Nat Hudson, Rusie, Ramsey; a host of them, but the 
general average of pitching was lower. Every team 
now has six or seven high class pitchers, where the 
old clubs had one good, perhaps, and three weak 
twirlers. But the pitching itself is not the chief cause 
of the general decrease of batting, as will be shown. 

Frequently batters who slaughter the ball in the 
minor leagues, and hit any kind of pitching, fail utterly 
when drafted into the major leagues. Many followers 
of the sport imagine that the reason for this failure is 
to be found in the superiority of the major 
league pitchers, which is wrong. These men would 
hit in the major leagues, and hit hard, perhaps 
as hard as in the minors, if allowed to hit with the 
same freedom. There are, in the major leagues, 
many batters who could not hit in the minor 
leagues at all. The reason for both is found in team 



156 TOUCHING SECOND 

work, which is the chief cause of the decHne in bat- 
ting. Some batters are adapted to the system, others 
are not. 

In the perfected team work of the major leagues bat- 
ters must hit to advance runners and score runs rather 
than to get base hits. They are compelled to permit 
the kind of ball they can hit to cut the plate unmolested 
and then hit at one which, perhaps, they are lucky to 
touch. Besides many times they are ordered to wait, 
and not to hit at all, in order to allow the pitcher to 
weary himself. 

A few years ago the Chicago club purchased a player 
late in the season who was one of the great batters of 
the American Association. His hitting helped the team 
to win the pennant, yet Chance released him without 
even bringing him to Chicago to play the final games. 
The act surprised the followers of the Cubs and some- 
one asked Chance why the man was released. "First 
ball hitter," explained Chance loquaciously (for him). 

Chance was right. The player was worthless as a 
team hitter, but if permitted to hit the first ball pitched 
to him he batted heavily and if he could have been 
the first man up in every inning he probably would 
have led the league in hitting. 

The reason for the improvement in scientific batting 
lies in practice, and the amount of batting practice in- 
dulged in during the season is astonishing. It is the 
one thing about the game of which the players never 
tire. Morning, afternoon and evening from March 
first until far into October players bat as long as any- 



BATTING 



157 



Diagram showing infield "grooves," 
home run "grooves" and safety zones 
for bunts. Hard hit balls following 
these "grooves" ought to go safe. 



/ 



/-/ 




A — The first and third base 
"grooves." 

B — The infield "grooves." 
C — Spots in which bunts are nor- 
mally safe. 

D — The home run "grooves." 
E — Territory upon which grounders 
ought to be fielded. 



158 TOUCHING SECOND 

one will pitch to them, and on November first the bat 
feels as good in their hands when it meets a ball 
squarely as it did the day spring training started. The 
first thing in the spring is the selection of bats and 
when the season closes the players still are sawing up 
disgraced bats and buying new ones. Bats get to be a 
mania with some. Roger Connor used to oil, polish 
and rub down his substitute bats every night and hang 
them from his window while he took his favorite to 
bed with him. 

There was a bat in the Boston club in 1909 which 
became famous. It belonged to Gessler, and a scorer 
one day jestingly marked upon it the symbols meaning 
a two base hit and a single. Gessler happened to make a 
double and a single that afternoon, and the players 
swarmed upon the scorer pleading with him to mark 
hits into the bat. He marked it full of hits; the Red 
Sox began a wonderful hitting spurt, all using the same 
bat, and before long the scorer was claiming part of the 
credit for their winning streak. Before the season 
ended Gessler hardly would have traded the bat for its 
weight in gold. 

"Evelyn" the famous bat with which Isbell, of the ^ 
Chicago White Sox, made four two base hits in one 
game and won the World's Championship for his team, 
"Big Betsy," Ed Delehanty's famous war club, "Nel- 
lie," used by Schulte, and a dozen other bats have be- 
come well known through being the favorites of good 
hitters and used by them during batting streaks. 

There is a player on the Brooklyn club who has an 



BATTING 159 

odd habit of using in practice the bat he intends to use 
in a game to ''fill it up with base hits." He tries bat 
after bat during practice, and if he happens to hit well 
with one, get "two or three hits into it," he uses that 
one during the game to get the hits out again. 

The eagerness with which the batting practice is in- 
dulged in often is laughable. One evening two mem- 
bers of the Cleveland club broke training and returned 
to the hotel at two A. M., feeling jolly. They reached 
their own floor in the hotel without being caught by 
the manager and went to the room of a player who is 
a wonderful hitter. Banging on his door they urged 
him to get up. 

"What do you want ?" growled the awakened slug- 
ger. 

"Get up, we're going to have batting practice," re- 
plied one of the jokers who knew the weakness of the 
inmate of the room. 

"There in a minute," responded the player, and 
as they heard him scramble from bed the jokers fled. 
Ten minutes later the night clerk was startled to see 
the great player enter the lobby in his uniform, carry- 
ing his two favorite bats, nor did he see the joke until 
the clerk pointed into the darkness outside. 

In the early days of the game batting practice was 
neglected. The heavy hitters practiced, but there was 
no system to their work, and very little time or thought 
was given to the scientific hitting, except by a few men 
who realized the possibilities of play. "Dickey" Pearce 
invented the bunt and the "fair foul" hit in 1866, but 



160 TOUCHING SECOND 

generations passed before the bunt was used intelli- 
gently by all classes of players. Indeed it was the the- 
ory of players, as it now is with many followers of the 
game, that "place hitting" was more or less of a myth. 
In fact it has been within the last decade that even the 
major league players have made intelligent efforts to- 
wards perfecting place hitting, and their successes in 
that line have been wonderful. Managers began to real- 
ize that the attacks could be directed at the vital spots of 
defending teams, and the attack has steadily become 
more resourceful, better calculated to bring results, and 
more adapted to cope with the improved pitching. Espe- 
cially has it been made necessary in order to break up 
defensive team work. 

Whether the modern game of "push; poke, shove and 
chop" is better than the old "swing and kill it" style 
may be judged by a comparison. The Philadelphia 
club from 1894 to 1898 always had from five to seven. 
.300 hitters in the game. In one game in 1897 there 
were nine .300 batters. Yet the team never won a pen- 
nant. The games were spectacular, but even when hit- 
ting hardest it was a bad hitting ball club. The Chi- 
cago White Sox, "the Hitless Wonders," won the 
World's Championship in 1906 when ranking almost 
last in batting in the American league. The team ex- 
celled any team ever organized in concentrating every 
move toward making runs, one at a time, and while 
nearly weakest in batting, scored the greatest average 
number of runs per hit of any club in the history of the 
game. 



BATTING 161 

There is a wide difference of opinion among players 
themselves as to the placing of balls "hit hard, but the 
fact remains that some players can do it by holding 
their bats at certain angles, and the increase in skill in 
the last five years has been great. None denies that 
balls can be poked, or pushed easily in a given direction. 
Many of the old timers were skilful in "pulling" the ball 
foul in order to wear down pitchers, and by hitting late 
in fouling off. The skill of batters in that direction 
increased through steady practice until McGraw, 
Keeler, Roy Thomas, Slagle and others could prolong 
the games indefinitely and tire out any pitcher. The 
rule makers promptly legislated against foul balls, and 
opened the new era of batting science. Their object 
was to hurry the game and avoid unnecessary delays 
and they thought that batters penalized one strike for 
a foul, would hit harder, and oftener. The players 
discovered, however, that hard driving did not pay 
against improved infield work, and that the new rule 
aided both the pitchers and fielders when the ball was 
hit hard, as it went too straight towards second base, 
and allowed the infield to concentrate their defense. 
One of the first results of the new rule was the increase 
in bunting, with variations tending to upset the infield. 
The "force bunt'* was brought into prominence by lit- 
tle Butler, of Columbus, who afterward blew one hand 
off with a fire cracker and retired. He pushed the ball 
slowly down the infield, striving to make it roll fast 
enough to pass the pitcher either to 'his right or left, 
yet so slowly that the short stop or second baseman, 



162 TOUCHING SECOND 

playing deep, would have to take it while sprinting 
forward at top speed and make a perfect throw: The 
gain by the play was not to the batting averages. It 
did not produce many safe hits, but it was productive 
of wild throws, and fumbles, and it at once became 
popular as a method of destroying infield team work 
and breaking up games. 

The Chicago Cubs used the force bunt during all 
their championship term, pushing the ball, instead of 
bunting it dead, a short distance in front of the plate. 
Their success with the ball was marvelous. In the 
fourth game of the World's Championship series in 1907 
at Detroit, Sheckard pushed a force bunt past Donovan 
in the critical moment of the game, and before the panic 
in the Tiger ranks ended, Chicago had made three runs 
as a result of the bunt, and won easily thereafter, 6 to 
I. In one game at Philadelphia in 1908 Tinker made 
the bunt with two men on bases, pushing a slow roller 
toward short stop. Doolan was running to cover 
second base and the ball rolled clear onto the grass be- 
hind short stop. Tinker taking two bases. 

Men of the type of Speaker, Cobb, Clarke, left- 
handed-batters, and occasionally a right hander. Leach 
for instance, use the force bunt with great effect. 

During the seasons of 1906 and 1907 Sheckard, o! 
Chicago, used a bluff bunt which worked with great 
success. He bunted at the first ball pitched to him, and 
purposely missed it. Then he bluffed that he intended 
bunting again and, as the third baseman tore forward, 
Sheckard poked the ball over his head. Leach, in the 



BATTING 163 

World's series of 1909, beat Detroit two games by the 
same play. Three times he drew Moriority forward 
to field expected bunts and then drove the ball past 
him like a rifle shot. Beaumont, a veteran of many 
teams, has for years been regarded as. one of the most 
dangerous place hitters, either when hitting the ball 
hard or when pushing it on a short line fl.y over field- 
ers coming forward. In the hit and run game his bat- 
ting was remarkable, for whichever fielder the runners 
managed to draw away from position it was almost 
certain Beaumont would hit through the deserted post. 

"Calling the turn" is a style of batting employed by 
some batsmen in trying to outguess the opposing 
pitcher. It means striving to guess what kind of a 
ball is about to be delivered. This style, while effect- 
ive, is extremely dangerous for the batter, as to guess 
wrong is to court serious injury. In one game at Cin- 
cinnati a few years ago, Coakley pitching, McGann tried 
to outguess him. He guessed a curve was coming, and 
his wrist was broken by a fast inshoot. Two innings 
later Bresnahan guessed wrong and was knocked sense- 
less. 

There are times when a play comes up to a batsman 
which compels him to try to outguess the pitcher. One 
of these times is when the hit and run play is ordered. 
With a runner on first or second base, and the batter 
giving the signal, he is compelled to attempt to guess 
when the pitcher will put the ball over the plate. He 
guesses, signals the runner, who is expected to start as 
if to steal the next base in order to draw one or more 



164 TOUCHING SECOND 

infielders out of position, and strives to hit through the 
deserted place. If the batter's guess is wrong, the run- 
ner is the victim. 

Seiee, v^hen manager of the Cubs, once secured a 
player from the Coast League who was reputed to be 
a wonderful batter, who had hit over .400 in his league 
and could call the turn every time. Selee tried him in 
right field against Boston, and ''Vic" Willis, one of the 
best "guessers" in the business, and a pitcher with a 
marvelous curve, both slow and fast, was on the slab. 
The recruit struck out four times and when he returned 
to the bench after the fourth effort some of the players 
sympathized with him. 

"Tough to start against Willis," remarked one. 

"Yes, and Fm calling the turn every time, too," 
mourned the recruit. 

"Well, old boy," said Chance, "Fd like to watch you 
when you weren't." 

But not all of batting is hitting the ball. There is 
method in the jockeying of the batter. The moment a 
batter steps to the plate with the bases clear the game 
becomes a duel between him and the pitcher, and 
although the crowd may be calling for him to hit, his 
intention may be not to hit until compelled so to do. 
His first effort is to "get the pitcher in the hole;" that 
is, make him pitch enough balls so the batter can be 
certain the next one will be over the plate. For, if the 
batter knows the ball is coming straight the chances of 
making a base hit are doubled. 

Then too, the batter may be under orders to follow 



orq 




BATTING 165 

out a manager's plan of battle. Frequently a manager, 
feeling certain the game will be close, orders his men to 
wait. The waiting may be either to discover whether 
the pitcher is likely to become wild, or to wear him out. 
Each batter then, instead of hitting, tries to make the 
pitcher throw as many balls as possible. If a batter 
can get three balls, foul off three, and then strike out, 
he may have accomplished far more toward the final 
result than he would have done had he made a base hit 
off the first ball pitched. The average number of balls 
pitched by one pitcher in a game of nine innings will 
run about 125, and every additional ball pitched wearies 
the pitcher. Many "ninth inning rallies" by which 
spectacular games are won, are the results of the wait- 
ing of the batters who struck out during the early in- 
nings. 

Chance is a great believer in the waiting game, and 
insists upon his men trying out pitchers during the early 
innings of games, especially new and unfamiliar pitch- 
ers, believing that what each man discovers, will help 
the succeeding batters. 

The practice of getting to first base by allowing 
the pitched ball to hit them, is more general with bat- 
ters than usually is supposed. It is not indulged in as 
extensively as in former years when "Red" Galvin used 
to allow the ball to carrom off his head in order to reach 
first, but it still is used extensively, despite rules for- 
bidding umpires to allow batters to take first when 
purposely hit. There is scarcely an important game 



166 TOUCHING SECOND 

between contenders for pennant honors, in which a 
dozen batters do not strive to make the ball hit them. 

Batters who "crowd the plate" usually are good hit- 
ters. They have the courage to risk injury, the nerve 
to allow the ball to hit them, and the advantage in get- 
ting decisions because, knowing they crowd the plate 
habitually, the umpires decide that they tried to escape. 
Besides pitchers will pitch outside to them steadily 
through anxiety to avoid hitting them, if they know the 
men will let the ball break a rib in order to reach first. 

The actual gain through allowing the ball to hit him 
is not so much for a player's team, as the moral effect 
upon the defending club. Nothing in baseball is so 
calculated to discourage a team, or destroy its con- 
fidence in a pitcher as to 'have him hit a batter in a 
crisis in the game. 

Scores of batters each season make the ball hit them, 
and take first in spite of the rules. The umpires must 
judge from the actions of the men whether they tried 
to avoid the ball, and in most cases any contortion of 
the arms is construed as such an effort, especially when 
there is a large home crowd on the field. In the season 
of 1908, during the fierce struggles of New York, Chi- 
cago and Pittsburg for the pennant, New York won 
three games from Chicago because players allowed 
themselves to be hit, and they came near winning the 
game in which they played off the tie by the same 
method — the second batter up throwing his arms across 
the plate and making the ball hit him. McGraw's 
verbal orders to players to get hit were audible in the 



BATTING 167 

stands, and in one game Doyle made three attempts to 
get hit before he succeeded and then was allowed to 
walk. 

bmpire O'Day unmasked one trick on the Polo 
Grounds that same season which was laughable. Bres- 
nahan was batting and, while wiggling a la Salome, he 
kept pushing his knees out toward the ball. O'Day 
stopped the game, ordered Bresnahan to adjust his 
clothing. Bresnahan argued, but O'Day made him 
obey, while the crowd roared at the umpire. Bresna- 
han had stuffed his shirt front out six inches, and in- 
flated his trouser legs three inches in order to give the 
ball more surface to hit. 

Such tricks, however, are outside the real sphere of 
baseball and are the final resorts of desperate men in 
desperate situations. Only a quick eye, long practice, 
courage and accurate swinging of second growth ash 
will win steadily. 



CHAPTER XI . 

BASE RUNNING 

A player who can run fifty yards in six seconds 
ought, with a lead of eight feet off first base, run to 
second base, 82 feet away, in three and one-half sec- 
onds. A pitched ball will travel from the pitcher's 
slab 6S feet to the catcher's glove ( fast ball with catcher 
standing nine feet back of the plate, timed from the 
start of the pitcher's motion), in seven-eights of a sec- 
ond. The catcher, if he handles the pitch perfectly and 
gets the ball away fast, will start the ball towards 
second in one and a quarter seconds after it hits his 
hands and his throw from nine feet back of the plate, 
if perfect, ought to reach the second baseman in one 
second, and be caught and the ball be ready to apply 
to the runner in one-quarter of a second additional. 
Perfectly handled in that time, the ball ought to beat 
the runner to second base by from one-eighth to one- 
quarter of a second, or by from 3>^ to 6J4 feet and re- 
sult in an easy out. 

The calculations are based on the pitcher holding the 
runner within eight feet of first base, and preventing a 
flying start, upon perfect handling of the ball, and upon 
the throw being "on the runner" at second. 

Hours spent in snapping split second watches have 
proved that every base runner, if properly held up at 
first base, ought to be caught stealing second base. 

168 



BASE RUNNING 169 

Yet the same timing proves that not one pitched ball 
in ten, during actual play, is pitched, relayed by the 
catcher and handled by a second baseman in three sec- 
onds; and, while figures based on perfect play prove 
one thing, actual timing indicates that 62 (plus) out 
of 100 runners ought to reach second base if they can 
start and run 82 feet in 3% seconds. 

Shortening the catcher's throw to approximately 93 
feet and figuring that the runner can gain fifteen to 
eighteen feet running start, instead of eight feet as at 
first base, and calculating on perfect playing in aver- 
age time, a man who can run 90 feet in 4 seconds (in- 
cluding start) ought to beat the ball to third base by 
nine inches in every attempt perfectly made. 

These are mathematical facts. Now for actual con- 
ditions as proved by what has been done. In one sea- 
son (1896) a complete record was kept of Lange's 
base running. He stole exactly 100 bases, stealing 
second base 68 times, third 3 1 and home once. Elim- 
inating hit-and-run plays entirely, or steals spoiled by 
hits, he made 141 efforts to steal, and was successful 
in 100, or about 70.2 per cent, of his trials. The re- 
turns (unofficial) for the season of 1909 show that 
Ty Cobb stole 76 bases out of 105 attempts, or 72.4 
per cent. While Cobb's total attempts are unofficial, 
they are close enough to show that the first-class base- 
runners succeed in about seven out of ten efforts to 
steal second. The figures really reveal more than that. 
They show that, while the runners steal only about 64 
out of every 100 times they try for second base, they 



170 TOUCHING SECOND 

succeed nearly eight of ten (y8 plus out of loo) times 
they start for third. 

The conclusion is clear that the pitchers do not hold 
up runners closely ; that the ball is pitched wide a large 
percentage of times, and that the catcher, for various 
reasons, is lucky to handle the ball perfectly three times 
in ten in actual play. 

If further proof is needed, here it is : Lee Tannehill, 
one of the slowest runners in the American League, in 
1909 stole 12 bases out of 19 attempts, two of which 
were palpable failures of batters to hit on hit-and-run 
signals. Even at that, he stole over 63 per cent, of the 
bases for which he tried. With these facts in view, the 
insistent query of baseball lovers, "Why doesn't he 
steal ?" becomes pertinent. 

The truth is that base- running is fast becoming one 
of the lost arts of baseball. There is no possible doubt 
but that there are men today who could steal as many 
bases as Hamilton, Lange, Mike Kelly or any of the 
old-time star runners if they played the game the same 
way. There is not the slightest doubt but that Cobb 
today is as good a man as Hamilton, Lange, Keeler or 
Harry Stovey; that Chance, Fred Clarke, Wagner, 
Bush or Collins could run bases with the best of the 
old-timers. Yet Stovey stole 156 bases one season, 
Hamilton 115 in one year, 102 another and nearly 100 
two other seasons, while Cobb stole y6 during 1909 
and was considered wonderful. 

There are reasons for the elimination of base-steal- 
ing from the run-getting tactics of modern teams ; more 



BASE RUNNING 171 

reasons than one. In the old days the motto of every 
manager was "run and keep running; make the other 
fellow throw." It was a baseball adage in those times 
that any team that could keep the opposing team throw- 
ing the ball around would win. As a matter of fact, 
the modern manager recognizes the same thing. He 
knows that if he can make the other team throw, it is 
only a question of time until they throw away the game. 
Why, then, does he not carry out his theory? 

The first and greatest cause for the degeneration of 
the art of "sprinting and hitting the dirt" is that in 
modem baseball, more and more every year, individ- 
ual effort is being sacrificed to team work. Team work, 
in many respects, has been overdone, and there are 
scores of players today who will not do anything on 
their own initiative or attempt a steal unless signaled 
so to do from the bench or by the batter. The modern 
ball player has been so trained to team work that only 
a few with brain and daring pull off the brilliant mdi- 
vidual feats that are necessary to win pennants, no 
matter how much team work there is. 

A player reaches first base, looks at the batter for a 
hit-and-run signal, looks toward the third-base coacher 
to see if a signal to steal has been flashed from the 
bench, takes his lead, watches the batter, and anchors 
himself. Two balls and no strikes are pitched; -he 
looks again for the signals. Failing to get them, he 
knows the batter is going to take a strike, and anchors 
himself again — afraid to risk the displeasure of the 
manager b}^ stealing. Even should the pitcher care- 



172 TOUCHING SECOND 

lessly permit him to get a big running start, he trots 
back to first base, perhaps slides back as hard as he 
would have had to slide to second. He catches a hit- 
and-run signal on the next ball, takes his lead, gets his 
start. The pitcher and catcher know as well as he does 
that the stage of the game calls for an attempt to run 
and hit; the pitcher pitches fast and out; the catcher 
takes the ball perfectly, throws, and even if the runner 
is a speedy man he is out by at least three feet. The 
pitcher and catcher did the thinking, the base runner 
used stereotyped "team ball" and was caught. 

Another cause for the decline in base running is the 
vast improvement of pitchers in watching bases. The 
average pitcher of today holds the runners to the bases 
much more carefully than did those of fifteen years ago. 
There are exceptions on both sides. Kilroy, Griffith, 
O'Day, Red Ehret, Brietenstein and others of the old 
school held them close, while today there are some who 
allow a running start. The balk rule handicaps the 
modern pitcher somewhat but the chief improvement 
in watching runners is the result of constant training 
and practicing. 

Still there are few pitchers who do not give the run- 
ner at least one good chance to steal. At least once 
in every five pitched balls, no matter how closely a 
pitcher may watch, his mind is diverted and he leaves 
an opening which a quick thinking runner may use to 
gain a flying start. 

The hit-and-run and the bunt-and-run games, of 
course, reduce the number of opportunities to steal. 



BASE RUNNING 173 

Ty Cobb was on first base about 310 times in 1909 and 
stole only 76 bases. He had 310 chances to steal sec- 
ond, perhaps 200 chances to steal third and nearly 150 
chances to steal home, as he scored 150 times. The 
records show he stole second 52 times,, third 21 times 
and home three times. Yet he is the most daring base 
runner of modern times. How often attempted hit- 
and-run plays, or third outs prevented an effort to steal 
is not recorded. 

Cobb is one of the rare players who can play "inside 
ball" and individual ball at the same time. He is bril- 
liant, thinks for himself and is not much hampered by 
bench orders. He runs mainly on his own judgment 
(or lack of judgment) but still he RUNS and he wins 
pennants for Detroit by running. The pitchers try 
harder to 'hold him to the bases than they do any other 
player in the league ; the catchers give more pitch-out 
signs to catch him, but they do not stop him. He is a 
living proof of the fact that modern ball players could 
run bases with as much effect as the old-timers could 
— if it were not for their lack of individual thinking. 

The more one studies the situation, the more con- 
vinced he must become that, despite the vaunted ad- 
vances of the game, there is less brain work exhibited 
on the bases than there was twenty years ago. This 
is not to claim that the players of today are not as intel- 
ligent, but that they have subordinated their intelli- 
gence to the brains of the manager, and allow one man, 
or, rather, insist upon one man, doing the thinking for 
the entire team, which is an impossibility. 



174 TOUCHING SECOND 

It is so seldom that one who watches a couple of hun- 
dred games of baseball every season sees anything new 
in the base-running line that when he does it is re- 
freshing. That the baseball-loving public sees it the 
same way is proved by the wild applause that greets un- 
expected steals, and by the public admiration for Cobb, 
Wagner, Bush, Collins, Evers and Chance. Philadel- 
phia went wild over Collins, who ran with execrable 
judgment, but got results. Billy Maloney set Chicago 
to talking by just such running, and led the National 
League one season in base-stealing. He ran wild, ran 
at the wrong time, ran all the time — and the showing 
that he and Collins made proves the wisdom of the old 
order to "keep the other fellows throwing." The other 
fellows tell "how lucky such runners are," and keep on 
making errors. 

A few years ago, Frank Chance, always a base-run- 
ner of rare judgment, coupled with great daring, 
started his team working the delayed steal. His run- 
ners started, stopped, and when the catcher relaxed 
from his throwing attitude and the man covering sec- 
ond base started back to his position, the base-runner 
made a dash for second. Mathematically figured out, 
the runner will beat the ball to second by over two feet, 
on the basis of 3 1/3 seconds to run the distance. 
Really, the runner gains more, as the baseman usually 
is slow getting up to cover the base, and a slide in front 
of him causes him to lose almost half a second diving 
forward to touch the player, after catching the ball. 



n 



L^.H 



5 n 

HLcrq 



PI 




BASERUNNING 175 

One day in 1909 Chicago and Pittsburg were play- 
ing, and a run meant victory for either side. Evers 
was on second base, with one out. He made a bluff 
run towards third, putting down his head and sprint- 
ing at top speed. Gibson whirled to throw to third. 
Evers stopped dead still — and laughed. Gibson in- 
stantly made a perfect throw to second, and, like a 
flash, Evers dashed for third and slid safely. He scored 
on a fly ball and won the game. The play, magnifi- 
cently executed as it was, set the crowd wild, and Evers 
deserved the tribute. The play had not been made in 
Chicago in five years, yet it was common in the old 
days, and the catcher had to watch every runner and 
calculate his distance between the bases before making 
a throw, else he would be trapped. 

Figures prove positively that the runner can go 32 
feet up the line towards third, and, if he starts back 
quickly enough, can beat the throw back to second. If 
he goes the other way, he has 58 feet to run and slide 
only 23 feet farther, and the ball must travel almost 
twice as far and be relayed perfectly to catch him. If 
he makes the play correctly, the fastest possible hand- 
ling of the ball will only catch him by three feet, un- 
less he is blocked off the base. That calculation allows 
for the second baseman coming ten feet inside the base 
to meet the catcher's throw. 

The play can be made every time by a fast man if he 
can draw the throw to second, yet Evers was applauded 
as a hero because he thought it out. 



^176 TOUCHING SECOND 



One of the cleverest bits of base-running Ty Cobb 
ever did was in one of the games of the first World's 
series between Chicago and Detroit. Cobb was on first 
base, when Crawford drove a single to short right cen- . 
ter, making Slagle cut in towards Shulte to reach the 
ball. When Cobb reached second base, Hofman had} 
thrown and the ball was coming in to Evers, who had 
gone into the grass to meet it. Without hesitation, 
Cobb turned second and raced for third. He had fig- 
ured the play in an instant. He knew that Slagle was 
a weak thrower ; that Evers' back was to the diamond ; 
that he would have to catch the ball and swing entirely 
around before he knew what was going on. He calcu- 
lated that Evers would expect him to stop at second, 
and, therefore, look at second base first, and so lose 
enough time to allow him (Cobb) to reach third. Evers 
looked at second, looked at third, saw Cobb already 
within ten feet of the base, and he made a wild, hurried 
throw that went into the crowd and almost gave De- 
troit the game. No manager could have told Cobb to 
do that, and because 99 out of every 100 base-runners 
would have stopped at second to await orders, they 
would not have made the play. 

Baseball has been reduced to a science, and is in 
danger of becoming mechanical unless a few base-run- 
ners like Cobb, Collins, Evers and Clarke, exponents 
of the unexpected, convince managers that base-run- 
ning pays, and that remaining anchored to bases is a 
poor policy. 



BASE RUNNING 177 

The two glaring examples of the different schools of 
baseball playing appeared in 1909, one in Boston on 
the American League grounds, and the other in St. 
Louis on Hedges' Park. The St. Louis Browns of 
1909 was the historical stationary team of baseball. 
Never again will there be another. It could make fewer 
runs on more hits than any team extant. If a player 
reached the plate on less than four hits, 'his fellows 
accused him of showing them up. 

The Boston team went to the other extreme. Fred 
Lake, a minor league manager, exploited the old theory 
of making the other fellows throw, and without first- 
class pitchers he made the teams in the American 
League fight to the finish to hold his "Speed Boys" out 
of pennant honors. 

The entire theory of the Boston team was "run," 
and with the fleetest aggregation of runners in the cir- 
cuit, perhaps in the country, the "Speed Boys" ran. 

It is history that Frank Isbell, when he was on bases, 
never stopped until he broke a leg, went out or some 
one shut the gate on him. He could take wilder chances 
than any runner who ever landed on a base, and he 
kept running after his legs wore out and his speed left 
him — and running with excellent success because the 
opponents would be so surprised to see him going that 
they would throw wild. But Isbell, in his palmiest 
days, would have been a second rater for "crazy" base 
running in the Boston team of 1909. "Get on and 
run" was their motto and they ran wild through the 
league. All the other players said they were "crazy," 



178 TOUCHING SECOND 

complained that they were not "playing the game," that 
they were ignoring all the science of the hit-and-run, 
sacrifice and bunt-and-run, but the "Speed Boys" kept 
on running and winning. Eventually, of course, the 
pitchers and catchers let them run and caught them 
by pitching out, but not until Boston had come near 
winning the pennant by persistent recklessness. 

The kind of baseball played by the Red Sox would 
not win consistently, yet neither will the studied, sys- 
tematic playing, exemplified by the Chicago Cubs, win 
always. That was proved by the way some of the 
National League clubs stopped Chance's team and kept 
them from winning their fourth straight pennant. 
Pittsburg blocked Chicago's system of attack, because 
in three seasons they had studied it and knew every 
move to expect. Gibson was chiefly responsible, but 
the pitchers did their part. The well developed plan 
of attack was becoming stereotyped, and this was 
proved by the fact that Chance was compelled to alter 
his campaign plans more frequently than ever before. 
Pittsburg, during the middle of the season of 1909, had 
the most varied and resourceful attack of any team in 
the league, and mixed up the base running style suc- 
cessfully, but before the finish the Pirates, too, became 
stereotyped. 

Base running consists chiefly of doing the unexpected, 
and the team that refuses to run bases because a strong 
throwing catcher is pitted against it is beaten. The 
strong throwing catchers, paradoxical as it may seem, 
have the least throwing to do, proving some teams sur- 



BASE RUNNING 179 

render before they are beaten, while the worse thrower 
a catcher is the more throws he has to make. 

Myers, the Indian, with New York, won a game 
from Chicago in 1909 by pretending to have a sore 
arm. He complained that his arm was so bad he did 
not want to catch. The Chicago players heard his com- 
plaint and decided to run bases. They ran for three 
innings, until four men had been caught, then changed 
the style of game. If they had persisted in running 
during the entire game, they probably would have won, 
as they needed only one run to get ahead in the eighth 
inning, and had two chances to steal, either one of 
which would have meant victory. The team that stops 
running because one or two men are thrown out is on 
a par with a man who puts up three stock margins and 
then quits. 

In thirty-two games in 1909 scores were kept to see 
how plays resulted with reference to stealing and hit- 
ting and running. In those games 66 efforts to steal 
wxre made and 41 were successful. Steals which were 
palpable efforts to make other plays, as well as failures 
of such steals were not counted. The average of suc- 
cessful stealing was .621. In the same games y2 plain 
hit-and-run signals were detected. 

Eleven of the attempts (15.3 per cent.) resulted in 
clean hits, eight o'f which ( 1 1 . i per cent. ) enabled the 
runner to take extra bases. Twenty-seven of the at- 
tempts (nearly 40 per cent.) advanced runners at the 
expense of retiring the batter at first base. Seven (09.6 
per cent. ) resulted in the batter striking out, and three 



180 TOUCHING SECOND 

of these strike-outs (04.2 per cent.) resulted in the run- 
ner being doubled with the batter, while two of the 
strike-outs (02.8 per cent.) resulted in the runner 
reaching second, anyhow. Seventeen runners (23.6 
per cent.) were forced at second for no gain; three 
(04.2 per cent.) were doubled on line drives, and seven 
(09.6 per cent.) of the batters flied out. 

The object of the hit-and-run being to advance run- 
ners, the result in these games shows that it succeeded 
in 50 out of y2 times, or 69.4 per cent. Yet, while the 
percentage of success was larger in the hit-and-run 
than in stealing, it is extremely doubtful if the figures 
do not show that plain stealing was more effective as a 
ground-gainer. 

These figures were made w^hile watching a slow team 
and one which is supposed to play the hit-and-run 
game perfectly. It would be interesting to study the 
same way, say, fifty games played by Detroit or Pitts- 
burg. Figures accumulated that way ought to prove 
convincingly whether or not base-running should be 
neglected. 

The game needs more dash, less mechanical work, 
more brains by individuals, and fewer orders from the 
bendi. John McCloskey was the only manager who 
could signal runners whether to slide feet or head first 
while they were stealing second. 



CHAPTER XII 

UMPIRING 

Umpires, in spite of the theory upon which baseball 
is conducted, and the apparent belief of spectators, are 
human beings, endowed with sensibilities. They can 
feel such emotions as anger, resentment, and revenge; 
their systems are capable of suffering pain, surprise, 
regret, even acute mental torture. Umpires (the offi- 
cials to the contrary) are likely to blunder, to be car- 
ried away by prejudice, by desire for revenge, and 
more than likely to become confused by the fierce heck- 
ling of players or spectators, and to blunder worse and 
worse. Umpires may even be dishonest. They are 
only human. 

Yet baseball, as an institution, is more dependent 
upon the honesty, courage and fairness of umpires than 
upon any other element in the game. One incompetent 
or dishonest official, or one of violent passions who 
permits personal animosity, or his sense of wrong, to 
influence him, can mar an entire season, ruin the 
chances of one or more teams, and perhaps give the 
championship to a club not deserving the honor. 

In spite of these facts, the rulers of baseball have 
adopted an extraordinary code; first, that the umpire 
always is right; second, that those who differ with 
him are "anarchists;" third, that all criticism of um- 
pires should cease "for the good of the game." The 

181 



182 TOUCHING SECOND 

rulers of baseball are striving and have striven for years 
to align all forces with the umpire, to extend his al- 
ready dangerous power, and to deprive players and 
others of the right of criticism. 

To a large extent this movement was caused by con- 
tinual and senseless criticism of umpires, which served 
only to make the umpiring worse. The established 
principle of baseball has been that, in matters involving 
only judgment, the umpire's decision is final. The at- 
tempt to make his decisions on matters involving rules 
and their interpretation beyond appeal and extend their 
power to punish critics, is not of their seeking. 

The danger lies not with the umpires, but with the 
powerful financial forces behind organized baseball 
and the establishment of a system which would muzzle 
all criticism and would place in the hands of these men 
absolute power to dictate the standing of clubs by di- 
recting the umpires. Those who have the good of the 
game at heart, and many of the players, who trust um- 
pires, would not trust the club owners if it were within 
their power to make the pennant races close. 

The honesty of umpires, as a class, never has been 
questioned. Some have been actuated by prejudices, 
some by dishonest motives, but as a body they are as 
honest and straight as any men that can be found. 
They are men of strength of mind and character, else 
they would not remain in the position a week. They 
are men of courage, quick decision, steady nerves and 
moral strength to face angry crowds for the sake of 
principle. But the honesty of club owners with for- 



UMPIRING 183 

tunes involved has not escaped attack and there is am- 
ple evidence that some have attempted to influence um- 
piring. 

Many persons, wearied by the senseless carping of 
some writers at the officials, have started a movement 
to have the umpire ignored in all reports. The danger 
would lie in leaving an opening for the introduction of 
dishonest methods. The financial temptation is great 
and should not be increased. The practice of presi- 
dents of leagues giving secret instructions to their um- 
pires is considered a grave danger to the game. 

The umpire, from being the abused, downtrodden 
victim of fanatical frenzy, as pictured in the comic sup- 
plements, has in the major leagues at least, become the 
Czar, armed with arbitrary power to use or misuse, and 
certain of the support of his league in any case. The 
only restraint placed upon them is the criticism of the 
crowd, or the in press, as the players cannot address 
them in argument, and to remove the restraint of pub- 
licity would make them a menace in case they either 
were prejudiced or revengeful. Umpiring now is a 
mare important element in the game than pitching. It 
would be as bad reporting to ignore a bad decision that 
won or lost the game for fear of injuring the umpire's 
feelings as it would to fail to mention a home run hit 
because the pitcher might feel hurt. 

Few persons understand the full extent of the um- 
pire's power in, and effect upon, baseball. In fully one- 
third of the games played in major leagues during a 
season, the umpire can turn the result by one decision. 



184 TOUCHING SECOND 

He can make or mar a contest by his manner of hand- 
ling the players. Games under competent and hard 
working umpires are played in an average of twenty 
minutes faster than when an incompetent man is hand- 
ling the teams, and the best way in which to judge the 
qualifications of a man for the position is by compar- 
ing the playing time of games, taking into considera- 
tion the rapidity with which the pitchers work. 

The popular conception of an umpire is that of an 
abused individual. This is the result of old time con- 
ditions, which still prevail in some minor leagues. In 
the old days an umpire, armed with a life insurance 
policy, took his life in his hands and walked between 
rows of ranting, raving athletes who, if they did not 
want to kill him themselves, urged the populace to do 
it. The education of players to the point where they 
realized that kicking and abusing the umpire would 
not win, but tended to turn the decisions against them, 
was slow. The education of spectators to a sense of 
fair play above partisanship has been slower. As con- 
ditions improved, however, higher and higher types 
of men entered the umpiring field, until now the sal- 
aries and the work attract many clean, decent men who 
command the confidence and respect of players and 
spectators. 

The great mistake of the officials of the leagues has 
been upholding the goats as well as the sheep. To a 
great extent the reformation of the umpiring system, 
and the steady improvement in deportment of players 
and the work of the umpires has been due to President 



UMPIRING 185 

B. B. Johnson of the American League, who has either 
had the luck or the judgment and firmness, to revolu- 
tionize conditions existing ten years ago and set an 
example which all executives have been compelled to 
follow. His first move was suppression of rowdyism 
by stern methods, and the suppression of the rowdies 
at once resulted in better umpiring, and a large increase 
in the number of desirable men who wanted the posi- 
tions. 

The large majority of umpires are honest and mean 
to be fair, but, as Umpire Johnstone remarked : *'Some 
umpires have one bad fault, and that is not being able 
to forget to-day to-morrow." The umpire who remem- 
bers is a bad umpire, and it is almost as bad for the 
player to remember. Tim Hurst had a bad day at 
Washington and Joe Cantillion thought he robbed his 
team of the game. The following day Hurst, willing 
to forget, walked over to the Washington bench and 
asked cordially : "Who is your pitcher today, Joe ?" 

"Guess, damn you," responded the retentive-memo- 
ried Cantillion. "That's all you did yesterday," and 
the trouble was renewed. 

Heads of leagues make their serious mistakes in 
upholding umpires who are palpably wrong. They are 
compelled to uphold them on all questions of judgment, 
but to declare the umpire was right in some cases is 
laughable. There was a case in 1894 in Chicago with 
Moran umpiring. Corcoran, at short for Cincinnati, 
picked up a grounder batted by Tinker and threw the 
ball five feet over Pietz's head, Pietz playing first base. 



186 TOUCHING SECOND 

The ball went on to the bleachers, sixty feet away. Peitz 
jumped, pretended he had caught the ball and Moran 
called Tinker out. Other players were compelled to 
hold Tinker to keep him from assaulting the umpire 
who ordered him off the field, and ordered all players 
who talked to him out of the game. Peitz chased the 
ball around the bleachers, ran back to the bench and 
touched Tinker. 

"Now, Tinker,'' said Moran, "you are out, anyway.*' 
And the decision stood. 

In Brooklyn, in 1908, with the score o to o, Brook- 
lyn had runners on second and third bases and two 
out when the batter missed the third strike. The 
catcher dropped the ball, but recovered and threw the 
runner out at first. Two runners crossed the plate, and 
the umpire permitted both runs to count. But the Chi- 
cago club, in an exhibition game at Birmingham, met 
the worst on record. A runner trying to score with 
two out in the ninth, was thrown out so far from the 
plate that he did not slide, but turned and ran through 
the diamond to the bench. The umpire called him out, 
but when Manager Vaughan protested the runner Had 
not been touched, the umpire lost his head. The run- 
ner, in the meantime, had gone into the dressing room, 
had his shirt off, and was starting to wash. When 
notified of the situation he put his shirt on, ran under 
the stand, climbed through a box, ran behind the 
catcher, after two balls had been pitched to the next 
batter, and when he touched the plate the umpire al- 
lowed the score and tied the game. 



UMPIRING 187 

To uphold decisions of that sort is to put a premium 
either upon dishonesty or incompetence. 

One of the greatest examples of individual heroism 
the game has known was that of Henry O'Day in the 
historic game between New York and Chicago on Sep- 
tember 22,y 1908, when Merkle forgot to touch second 
base. Ten days previous to this game O'Day had been 
umpiring at Pittsburg and missed the same play, turn- 
ing away to get a drink and failing to see Gill, the run- 
ner, who forgot to go to the base. In New York when 
the hit was made that sent home what seemed the win- 
ning run, the crowd surrounding the field, swarmed 
upon it. O'Day, remembering the Pittsburg play, raced 
nearly to second base, saw Merkle turn and go to the 
club house, saw Evers with the ball on the base. "The 
run doesn't count," he said — just as the crowd 
swarmed over him. For two hundred feet he walked 
through a raging mob, telling them the run did not 
count, while they shrieked, struck at him, pulled him 
and threatened his life. 

Even after New York claimed the game and the 
entire country was aroused over the situation, O'Day 
could have ended the trouble with a word and given 
New York the pennant. He knew the National League 
wanted New York to win. He knew the Giants ought 
to have won, that the hit was clean and one that de- 
served to bring home the winning run. Even when 
officers, politicians, men big in baseball, urged him to 
say he had not seen the play, had not made a decision, 
he stood firm. It was said O'Day would be mobbed if 



188 TOUCHING SECOND 

ever he went onto the Polo grounds again, but when 
he next appeared he was greeted with cheers that 
showed the admiration of the fans for his courage. 

There are weak umpires and strong ones. The 
weakest is the *'Homer" who gives all close decisions 
to the home club. But the ''Homer" is not as bad as 
his antithesis, the "bullhead" who gives all close de- 
cisions against the home club for fear he will be called 
a "Homer." 

With all their mistakes, prejudices and human weak- 
nesses, the umpires have a smaller percentage of errors 
than the players. As an experiment, Mr. I. E. San- 
born C'Cy") of the Chicago Tribune, kept accurate 
score of all decisions made in a number of games. When 
in doubt, he questioned umpires and players in regard 
to the decisions. He found that the umpires averaged 
about .970 per cent right and that even then some of 
the decisions scored against them might have been given 
either way without injustice. The good umpire is not 
palpably wrong in more than 35 cases in a thousand, 
although, of course, he may have a bad day, just as a 
player does and pile up errors. "Silk" O'Loughlin had 
such a day at St. Louis once when he seemed to call 
everything wrong. Finally he called Wallace out. 
"What for, 'Silk' ?" demanded Wallace. , 

"Well, you see," explained the umpire, "I really 
thought you were safe, but wanting to get one decision 
right, I called you out." 

The phrase "senseless kicking" is widely used and 
is redundant because all kicking is senseless. It is dif- 



U M P I R I'N G 189 

ferent from "causeless." The "causeless" kicker al- 
ways is a bad ball player. The "senseless" kicker may 
be one goaded to desperation by bad umpiring. In the 
modern game there is no (at least little) "kicking for 
effect," such as was indulged in by McGraw, Jennings, 
Tebeau and O'Connor. The players know they do not 
gain any advantage and are liable to arouse the retal- 
iatory spirit of the umpire and be put out of the game. 
Strangely enough, kicking, when there is just cause 
for complaint, is the most dangerous kind. An umpire 
seldom expels a player for causeless kicking. He drives 
him out for objecting to decisions which he knows were 
wrong and is therefore angry with himself. 

Some expulsions are laughable. In 1908, Pat 
Dougherty, goaded to a state of frenzy by Hurst's ball 
and strike decisions, turned upon the umpire and said, 
"You blank, blank, blankety blanked blank crook." 

"Do you think I am that sort of a crook, Patrick?" 
asked Hurst. 

"Yes, blank blank you, I do," spluttered the angry 
player. 

"Then, Patrick," said Hurst in his softest voice, "If 
I were you I would not associate with such a person. 
Git on off the field." 

Muzzling players completely is merely placing a pre- 
mium on weak umpires because the modern player does 
not kick against good umpires who have their confi- 
dence and respect. Some umpires attempt to rule by 
bullying players and misusing their power. The worst 
scenes in modern baseball have resulted from the ag- 



190 TOUCHING SECOND 

gressiveness of the umpire. The good umpires, who 
have tact, usually admit to the angry players that they 
might have been wrong, and in almost every case the 
player retires satisfied. 

Clean aggressiveness must remain a part of the game, 
for it is necessary to keep a team fighting for every 
point and the spectators demand it. Modern major 
league players outside the **bonehead" class, under- 
stand the difficulties of the umpire's position and sym- 
pathize with 'him as long as he appears to be trying. 
Minor league players will assure you that the umpires 
in their leagues do not get half what is coming to them, 
and in many leagues the same process of suppressing 
rowdyism that the major leagues went through is go- 
ing on. What some of the "bush league" umpires will 
decide really is astounding, and what they must endure 
from the players would rejoice the heart of the old time 
"fan" of the "kill him," "take him out" epoch. 

There was an umpire at Evansville, Ind., in 1908, 
who called a game on account of darkness at 3 126 p. m., 
the moment the Evansville team scored a run and went 
ahead. Schmidt, when managing the Meridian, Miss., 
team passed himself off as an umpire ^nd was caught 
stealing the opposing catcher's signals, signaling his 
own batters and base runners, and then miscalling balLs 
and strikes as fast as they were pitched in a vain effort 
to make his minor leaguers beat a major league club. 

One of t'he best comparisons between the umpiring 
in major and minor leagues was given unconsciously 
by "Ducky" Holmes, who, after years of service in 



UMPIRING 191 

major leagues, retired to manage the Lincoln, Neb., 
club. After the third game, he pleaded with "Bill" 
Rourke, with tears in his eyes, to lend him a revolver, 
with which to kill an umpire. 

Years ago there was an umpire who, in a game at 
Quincy, III, called a runner out at the plate in the ninth 
inning, ending the game and giving the visiting club 
the victory. The crowd, angered by the decision, made 
a rush but he escaped, and fleeing with a hundred men 
and boys pursuing, leaped into a passing delivery 
wagon, implored the driver to save him, and escaped 
to the hotel. Before he could dress and flee, the angry 
crowd surrounded the hotel threatening lynching. He 
hid in a room on the top floor. Night came and still 
the crowd, muttering threateningly, remained on guard. 
At eleven o'clock the umpire raised the window of his 
room and cautiously stuck out his head. 

"Ladies and gentlemen," he yelled, "I reverse my 
decision. The run counts.'* 

The crowd dispersed and his life was saved. 

Abe Pollock, who umpired a few frenzied games in 
the Central League, quit abruptly and tells the follow- 
ing story in explanation — President Carson entering 
strenuous denial. 

"I stood everything," Pollock groaned. "They 
spiked my feet, hit me in the eye, waylaid me after 
games, kicked me on the shins, pulled my hair, abused 
and cursed me. Still I stuck until one day at Fort 
Wayne when a big fellow walked down to the front 



192 TOUCHING SECOND 

of the stand, dropped a big bull dog over into the field 
and yelled, 'Sic him,' then I resigned." 

The worst feature of an umpire's life, perhaps, is 
the necessity of avoiding everyone and concealing one's 
identity as far as possible. During the season the um- 
pires travel incognito, if possible, and keep their hotels 
secret except to the presidents of their leagues; avoid 
players and all conversation with outsiders, practically 
exiling themselves. These precautions are necessary 
because irresponsible persons are likely to start false 
stories. O'Day met McGraw on Broadway one morning 
and walked two blocks with him. Before the game 
started, the "tin horn" element along Broadway was 
betting on New York on the report that "McGraw had 
it fixed," which was started by someone who saw the 
umpire and player speak to each other. In St. Louis an 
umpire was accosted in his hotel by a stranger, who 
seemed to know him. 

"What do you think of the race?" asked the stranger. 

"Pretty close," replied the umpire. 

"Think New York will win?" 

"They have a good chance." 

"Is New York a good bet?" 

"As good as any in baseball." 

Three days later the president of the league received 
a letter stating that the umpire was betting heavily 
that New York would win the pennant. 

On the afternoon that New York and Chicago 
played off their tie for the National League Champion- 
ship of 1908, the rumor ran all over New York that 



UMPIRING 193 

the game was fixed for New York to win. Tinker was 
called from the Chicago bench an hour before the game 
and advised to save himself by betting on New York 
because the umpires were fixed, and offers to bet large 
sums were made at all saloons, and in the Polo Grounds 
itself on the strength of the rumor. When the Kreamer 
case was exposed, months later, the probable origin of 
the rumor was revealed. 

The umpires are compelled to avoid the slightest ap- 
pearance of evil or accusations will arise. Still an 
umpire may have friends, Comiskey to the contrary 
notwithstanding. Once Comiskey was angry with Can- 
tillion, who then was an umpire. The previous day 
Cantillion's decisions had aroused the crowd against 
him and when the umpire came to the gate with two 
other men, the gate keeper, a bitter Chicago partisan, 
refused to admit the men Cantillion had invited to at- 
tend the game. Comiskey appeared. 

"Umpire is here with two friends," said the gate- 
man. "Shall I let them in?" 

"Any umpire who has two friends ought to bring 
them," snorted Comiskey, "they are all he has." 

The life of an umpire is graphically described in 
J. Peck Sharp's version of the manner in which Jack 
Sheridan entered the profession. 

"Jack had been playing in the Southern League," 
relates Sharp, "and Oakland purchased him. Great 
stories had been told of his ability to field, and before 
the season opened the Oakland papers were printing 



194 TOUCHING SECOND 

two columns a day telling how good he was. The sea- 
son opened ; Sheridan did not come. Urgent telegrams 
were sent. The team lost steadily. The people cried : 
*Give us Sheridan.' More telegrams, money, tickets, 
still more telegrams, and finally Sheridan came rush- 
ing to the rescue. The papers printed seven column 
headlines announcing his arrival, and all the people in 
the city poured out to see Oakland start to win the 
pennant. The first afternoon Sheridan made four er- 
rors, the next day six, the next seven, and when the 
game ended the crowd chased him for miles. He fled 
on and on until at last he came to a dense forest and in 
that he hid by day and fled by night. 

"On the third day he came to the great redwood 
groves and stumbled upon a lumber camp. The fore- 
man fed him and gave him a job. The next morning 
he was given an ax and a team of oxen, and the fore- 
man, taking him into the forest, marked two redwoods 
for him to chop down. Sheridan set to work, hacking 
around and around the giant tree like an Indian with 
a tomahawk. At dusk when the foreman came to help 
him haul the trees Sheridan 'had not chopped through 
the first one. The foreman accused him of loafing. 
Sheridan, with blistered hands and aching muscles, re- 
torted angrily. While they quarreled the tree fell, kill- 
ing both oxen. The foreman, seizing an ax, leaped 
toward Sheridan to kill him. Again Sheridan turned 
and fled. For days he fled on and on, deeper and 
deeper into the forest. Hiding by day for fear of being 
seen by some watchful Native Son, and slinking 



UMPIRING 195 

through the forest by night, he lived on roots, barks 
and berries. Twelve days he wandered. One after- 
noon he threw himself exhausted upon the ground, his 
mind filled with bitter thoughts. 

" 'What is left for me ?' he soliloquized mourn- 
fully, 'driven from the haunts of man, forced to hide 
and skulk through the bushes like a hunted animal. 
Scorned, beaten, despised by my fellow man ; 'hated ; an 
Ishmael and out-cast. Why shouldn't I make a good 
umpire ?' " 

One night a few years ago "Silk" O'Loughlin had the 
blues and was discanting upon the bitterness of an um- 
pire's life. 

"It is a dog's life," he said. "Worse than that, for 
sometimes persons speak kindly to dogs. Even a crim- 
inal, a murderer, is more respected and better treated. 
We are outcasts, pariahs, things to be abused and in- 
sulted. Why, from three o'clock every afternoon, until 
after five, we stand out there with ten thousand per- 
sons abusing, insulting — " 

"Yis," remarked Hurst, "But can yez beat thim 
hours?" 



CHAPTER XIII 

DEVELOPING NEW PLAYS 

Once there was a mathematician who calculated that 
there are 7,226,433 plays possible in baseball and the 
next day someone made one he had not included m his 
figures. It is a game of surprises, freaks and accidents. 
Almost every day some new play, some new way of 
making an old play, or some startling innovation, is 
recorded somewhere. Of the many things that go to 
make the game interesting to spectators, the greatest 
is the new plays that are developed day by day, tried, 
discarded, or added to the team's repertoire. There is 
scarcely a morning practice that passes without a new 
play being proposed by someone, and accepted for trial 
or rejected by his fellows. 

The game has developed toward exact science stead- 
ily for the last fifteen years and while the freaks and 
the accidents continue to add to interest and excite- 
ment, the discoveries of real value are becoming fewer 
and fewer. This is not because the players are any less 
resourceful, but because there is so much less to be dis- 
covered. 

Players even of a few years schooling in the minor 
leagues to-day, know more about the game, how plays 
should be made, and what not to do than did Mike 
Kelly or the other famous inventors and originators 
who were the pioneers of scientific baseball. The mod- 

196 



DEVELOPING NEW PLAYS 197 

ern player has the benefit of the accumulated experience 
of a dozen baseball generations to study before he even 
starts to play. 
If there is a serious menace to the popularity of the 
' national game it is that the playing will become me- 
chanical, if not monotonous. It is the history of every 
great team that has remained together long that pat- 
rons ceased attending games because they were lacking 
in sensations. Many lovers of the game declare major 
league baseball is less exciting, less spectacular and 
therefore less interesting than in the minor leagues. It is 
certain that hustling, aggressive tail-end teams in the 
major leagues frequently furnish better average sport 
than do the clubs contending for the pennant. 

There is danger that the game may become machine- 
like. There is a tendency in that direction with all 
championship teams, except that in their ranks usually 
is found some fighting, aggressive player who, refusing 
to stop at the set rules, thinks out and tries out new 
plays or new ways of making plays, tests his theories 
and keeps all the others stirred up. It is these men 
who discover the new plays. 

History has its records of the inventors, but baseball 
'history is tradition passed down from generation to 
generation until even the discoverer of the curve ball 
is in doubt. 

One of the odd things of baseball is that many of the 
pioneers made plays repeatedly and won games by them 
without being imitated. Many plays, such as the "push 
bunt," the "bluff bunt," the "delayed steal," have been 



198 TOUCHING SECOND 

''discovered" about once a decade, and then neglected, 
if not forgotten, until some other genius brought them 
into action. In the pioneer days of the game, it seemed 
that if a player invented or evolved a play, the others, 
instead of seizing upon it to use, gave him a kind of 
patent-right to it. Indeed it was not until 1885 that 
any systematization of plays was begun. 

When Dickey Pearce invented the bunt, and used it 
as a means of reaching first base, he was scorned and 
his fellows thought it rather a baby trick. It never oc- 
curred to them that it might be more effective as a run- 
getting device than trying to beat the cover off the 
ball. F. R. Boerum caught pitched balls behind the 
bat without waiting for the bound as early as 1859, yet 
as late as 1897 catchers played back except on third 
strikes or when runners were on the bases, little dream- 
ing the assistance they gave the pitcher by remaining 
close. Ross Barnes, in a game between the Chicago 
and Rockford teams in 1870, stole home twice while 
the pitcher was in the act of delivering the ball with- 
out finding imitators for many years. Comiskey used 
the "delayed steal" when 'he was playing at Des Moines 
as a boy. Ted Sullivan records that the St. Mary's 
college (Kansas) team played off bases to draw throws 
and then advanced a base by beating the relayed throw, 
when he was at school in the sixties. 

In the days of the "New York" and "Massachu- 
setts" games, the first bound was out, and often games 
were played in which the batter was out if the ball was 
caught on the second and even the third bound. When 



DEVELOPING NEW PLAYS 199 

the Knickerbocker team proposed that the ball should 
be caught on the fly to make an out, it was ridiculed. 
Tyng, the Harvard catcher, who arranged the famous 
demonstration before the faculty to prove that a ball 
could be curved, wore the first mask in 1876 and was 
received with scorn. It was not until 1886 that the 
left hand glove came into use, and then many teams 
refused to play if their opponents wore gloves, and 
for a long time after that there was a deep prejudice 
against the hand armor. Anson, during all his career, 
refused to wear a mitt, playing first base with a light 
glove against the terrific throwing of Williamson and 
Pfeffer. He was converted two years before his retire- 
ment. 

The adoption of the glove in catching was the result 
of the change in the rules in 1884 which allowed over- 
hand pitching and made more protection necessary, and 
in 1886, with the abolition of the high-low ball rule, 
the game entered into its best period of development, 
with more rapid progress. 

During the early eighties, there came into the game 
two of the greatest inventive geniuses it has known: 
Mike Kelly, of Chicago, and Charles A. Comiskey, 
leader of the St. Louis Browns. According to James 
A. Hart, who was for years head of the rules commit- 
tee, fully one-half of the restrictive rules enacted were 
the direct results of the activities of Kelly and Co- 
miskey to find ways of beating existing rules and win- 
ning games. Whether they invented them or not, both 
used the "bluff bunt," the "delayed steal," the "double 



200 TOUCHING SECOND 

steal" with runners on first and third and many other 
plays used today by the best teams. 

Kelly's greatest invention, however, was the famous 
"Chicago slide," now used by every good base runner. 
The slide, it is conceded by the veterans of Anson's 
famous White Stocking infield, was the invention of 
Kelly, although every man on the team used it with 
great success until it became the trademark of the 
White Stockings. The slide consists of throwing the 
body either to the right or to the left while at full speed, 
and sliding upon the hip, with the leg doubled under, 
and the foot extended so as to hook around the bag. 
The runner throws his body away from the baseman 
to avoid being blocked or touched, pivots on the foot 
that hooks the bag, and prevents oversliding. 

The Chicago team of 1880, which reached its fullest 
development five years later, was the pioneer of "inside 
baseball," and from that team came more original plays, 
now in common use, than from any other source. Those 
were the formative days of the modern game, and the 
players. Quest, Anson, Kelly, Burns, Williamson, Gore, 
Flint and Corcoran, were learning from each other 
while teaching others. But it really was with the 
coming of Pfeffer in 1885 that the team began to play 
"inside baseball" coherently, both at bat and on the 
infield. A system of signaling, involving the catcher, 
third and second baseman and pitcher, was invented, 
Anson for some reason being excluded from the team 
play. The marvelous success of the team was due more 
to intelligent team work, and the protecting of base 




)£^ 



Tris Speaker, one of the sensational "finds" of the season of 1909. 



DEVELOPING NEW PLAYS 201 

runners by the batters than to the individual skill of 
the players, although that was great. 

During that same evolutionary period another leader 
was coming forward in the rival American association. 
Oddly enough, Comiskey, leading the St. Louis 
Browns, was working along the same lines of develop- 
ment of team play as was the Chicago team, inventing 
plays, teaching them to his men, learning from others 
and winning pennants. 

Comiskey was and is one of the great constructive 
geniuses of baseball and the only one who kept abreast 
of the progress of the scientific part of the game, and 
usually ahead of it. He was one of the first to use the 
hit-and-run play effectively, but his great improvement 
in defensive work was his style of playing first base, 
which was revolutionary in its effect upon the infield 
game. Comiskey not only invented plays, but seized 
and improved upon plays learned from his men and 
his opponents. 

In the contests between St. Louis and Chicago for 
the World's Championship in 1885 and 1886, the dif- 
ference in style of infield play between the League and 
Association forced itself upon the attention of students 
of the game. The Chicago infield played close, St. 
Louis deep, and the chief advantage of the Browns 
was in the fielding of the pitcher and first baseman. The 
fielding of the pitchers of the St. Louis team was an 
innovation in baseball, and their covering of first base 
at a dead run, and backing up on plays was wonderful. 
They enabled Comiskey to play a deep first base and 



202 TOUCHING SECOND 

he, playing deep, gave the second baseman a chance 
to play deeper and closer to the base, which helped the 
short stop by many feet. 

Comiskey thus was the first manager to use the two 
weakest defensive parts of the infield, the pitcher and 
first baseman. Up to his time, both had been useless 
as far as fielding went. Comiskey won pennants at 
St. Louis by his inventiveness, and it is a remarkable 
thing that every team he ever has handled has had 
great fielding pitchers. If they were not good fielders 
when they joined the team, they had to learn. 

The World's Championship series between Chicago 
and St. Louis marked an era in the development of 
plays. Each team learned from the other, and the 
National League took the best of the Association's 
style of play, while the younger organization improved 
from experience. Baseball developed rapidly up to the 
time of the players' rebellion, many new plays being 
invented, and the education of the public and the play- 
ers to the game was rapid. The war, however, ar- 
rested development, and with the organization of the 
twelve club league it was found there were not enough 
first-class players to fill the dozen teams, and improve- 
ment was slow, except in the cases of the Baltimore 
and Boston teams. 

Possibly the best period of developing plays baseball 
has known was during the period following the reduc- 
tion of the National League to eight clubs, when all 
the great players of the country were concentrated in 
one eight club league. Another set-back came when 



DEVELOPING NEW PLAYS 203 

the American League started war and scattered the 
players through sixteen clubs, but the supply of play- 
ers increased until both leagues were able to continue 
the development. 

Today knowledge of the science of baseball is so 
widespread that school boys on the lots and play- 
grounds, and lads around the country school houses, 
know how to make the plays Kelly, Comiskey, Latham 
and Ward, Ewing, O'Neill, Fogarty and Sullivan in- 
vented and perfected. They have the theory whether 
they can execute the play or not. 

There is scarcely a doubt that almost every play 
made today was made by some pioneer. Kelly, Tom 
McCarthy, Pfeffer and others made plays their own 
team mates did not comprehend, so if a play is called 
a "new" play it is in the sense that it probably has 
been rediscovered. Frank Chance, in 1906, com- 
menced to work the "delayed steal" persistently and 
was proclaimed the discoverer of the play. Yet Kelly, 
Hamilton, Lange, O'Neill, Comiskey, Duffy and many 
others used the play, and "Sadie" Houck stole in that 
way with much success. Maloney once was on second 
base, another runner at third and the ball was hit to 
the short stop, who threw home. The runner trying 
to score from third was thrown out at the plate, but 
Maloney, following him ten feet behind, slid in front 
of the plate and scored before the catcher could recover 
and touch him after touching out the other runner. It 
was proclaimed as a new play, but Kelly and Lange 
had made it several times. 



204 TOUCHING SECOND 

Jimmy Callahan, former manager of the White Sox, 
was watching a crowd of small boys playing on a va- 
cant lot. Runners were on first and third bases, and 
it was evident they intended a double steal. Callahan 
watched the play, feeling certain the diminutive catcher 
could not make the throw. The pitcher made as if to 
start his pitching motion, but instead stepped directly 
toward third base and threw to the baseman. The 
base runner dived back to third, but the third baseman 
threw to the second baseman and the runner going 
from first to second was caught twenty feet. 

"Well, by George," ejaculated Callahan and went on 
his way thinking. 

That afternoon Callahan worked the boy*s trick 
against a pair of experienced base runners, and within 
a week half the teams in America were using it, and 
driving umpires to distraction trying to decide whether 
the motion was a balk or not. 

Pittsburg, about 1894, used a play something like 
that to stop the double steal, and also with runners on 
second and third bases. The pitcher delivered the ball 
to the catcher who apparently tried to catch the runner 
off third by throwing sharply to Leach, who in turn 
would relay the ball to Ritchey at second as soon as it 
touched his hands. Many times the unsuspecting run- 
ner was caught at second, standing still, intently wafch- 
ing the play at third. The play has been made from , 
the catcher to the first baseman to the short stop with 
some success. 



DEVELOPING NEW PLAYS 205 

In 1895 clubs worked the double steal against the 
Chicago Nationals so often that a meeting of the in- 
fielders was held to devise a scheme to stop it. So, 
when runners were on first and second, and a steal 
was suspected, Kling threw to second instead of to 
third, and half the time the runner who was traiHng was 
caught watching the play at third. 

Tinker and Evers plotted a play a few years ago 
that caught many men and furnished the spectators 
much joy. When a hit-and-run play is attempted and 
the batter hits a fly to the outfield, the base runner hear- 
ing the crack of the bat, must judge from actions of the 
fielders in front of him what has happened. When 
such a situation came up Tinker and Evers went 
through all the motions of trying to stop a grounder, 
or diving after a hit. The runner would fear being 
forced out at second and tear along under the impres- 
sion the ball had gone through the infield. Sometimes 
he would be nearly to third base before the outfielder, 
catching the ball, would toss it to the first baseman 
and complete the double play. Sherwood Magee was 
caught three times in one season on the play, and finally 
in Philadelphia, the Cubs tried it again. Magee, not 
to be caught again, gave them the laugh and jogged 
back to first, whereupon Schulte dropped the ball, 
threw it to second, and Tinker fired it back to first, 
completing the double play. 

The "bluff bunt," aimed to pull defensive infielders 
out of position, has resulted in a variety of plays, all 
based on the same principle. Possibly the cleverest va- 



206 TOUCHING SECOND 

riation is the "bluff bunt" used as a substitute for the 
sacrifice hit to advance runners, especially from second 
to third base. The play was used sporadically for a 
number of seasons, but it remained for the Chicago 
Cubs to add it to their repertoire and use it scientific- 
ally. After they had demonstrated its possibilities it 
suddenly came into general use. The most successful 
use of the play is when the situation seems to call for a 
sacrifice bunt under all the accepted rules of the game. 
With runners on second and first, or on second with 
none out, the best play, according to all baseball au- 
thorities, is to sacrifice- Chance, however, figured he 
could advance the runners without the loss of a man, 
and at the expense of only one strike. By close calcu- 
lations he concluded the danger of having the runner 
thrown out at third was only a little greater than hav- 
ing him caught by a failure to bunt, or forced out at 
third. The batter was ordered to pretend to bunt, miss 
the ball purposely and shove his body over the plate so 
as to interfere slightly with the catcher's vision. The 
third baseman, expecting a bunt, comes forward rap- 
idly, leaving the base unguarded. The runners, who 
have been signaled, start to run as the pitcher winds 
up, and the leading runner is expected to slide safe 
back of third base before the third baseman can get 
back to the base and catch the throw. As the third 
baseman is compelled to run backwards, in order to 
watch the catcher's throw, he must touch blindly at the 
runner, and the chances of a muff are largely increased. 
The best way to defeat the play, it soon was learned, is 



DEVELOPING NEW PLAYS 207 

for the short stop to cover third base and take the 
throw. 

The "bluff bunt" also is used to assist the "delayed 
steal," but the assistance is unfair, as it consists of 
hampering the activities of the catcher. How much 
the batters can help base runners in that way without 
being censured or punished by the umpire is a matter 
of much study. A slight motion of the batter's body 
may interfere with the catcher's throw just enough to 
cause it to go wild, interfere with the view of the 
catcher or umpire and prevent the catcher from touch- 
ing base runners who are scoring in close plays at the 
plate. The umpire has great difficulty in deciding 
whether the interference was enough to warrant pun- 
ishment, as the batter all the time is pretending to be 
striving desperately to avoid doing the thing he is try- 
ing to accomplish. 

There was an odd play introduced on the Polo 
Grounds in 1908 which was the result of a "fanning 
match" the previous evening. Bresnahan and several 
of the Chicago players were discussing plays and ar- 
guing the chances of one umpire seeing everything 
that takes place, all conceding it to be impossible. A 
reporter who was present suggested that, when the one 
umpire was behind the plate and either a bunt or hit- 
and-run was attempted, the umpire always ran down 
into the diamond, in front of the play in order to see 
a play either at first or second base, and that the catcher 
could, therefore, stop, trip or interfere with the batter 
without the slightest danger of being seen. Later in 



208 TOUCHING SECOND 

the evening the reporter, meeting Kling, asked his 
opinion of the possibility of such a play. 

The following day, early in the game, Chicago had 
a runner on first base and the batter tried to sacrifice. 
Bresnahan cut in ahead of the runner, bumped him off 
his feet, and after the other runner had been forced at 
second the luckless batter was doubled at first base. 
Two innings later Kling did the same thing to a New 
York batter, tripping him so he was thrown out on a 
hit that probably would have been safe. Twice after 
that the catchers took advantage of the umpire and 
interfered with batters until the crowd was roaring 
with indignation. The play had on eresult — there were 
two umpires on the field the following day. 



CHAPTER XIV 

COMBINATION PLAYS 

The plays in which quick thinking counts most, and 
is absolutely necessary if the club is to win, are the 
combination plays in which the success of the man who 
is executing the mechanical part of the work depends 
largely upon what is done by one or more of the other 
players. 

There are hundreds of plays executed every week dur- 
ing the season by the major league players in which 
perhaps only one man touches the ball and yet in which 
the others may have some part. If the assistants in 
such a play fail, either by action or by neglect, to act 
or move, they may give the opponent a clew as to what 
is to be attempted and enable them to foil the attack or 
turn it against the attackers. If each man does his 
allotted part, and then the play fails, the one who han- 
dles the ball receives the censure, as he would have re- 
ceived the praise had it succeeded. 

The player who is the assistant in combination plays 
has one principal duty and that is to go to the right 
spot at the right time. He may have no part whatever 
in the play except to be there, ready to take part in it 
if it should miscarry in any way, or if the attacking 
player should make an unexpected move in countering 
the attack. The unexpected is what wins games be- 
tween teams closely matched, and combination plays 

209 



210 TOUCHING SECOND 

afford the greatest chance for such happenings. It 
is the duty of each man to guard every possible avenue 
of escape in case a base runner is trapped by some clever 
combination, and resorts to quick use of his wits to 
escape before actually being touched out. 

A play which happened when Malachi Jeddidah Kit- 
tridge was catching for Washington illustrates the 
necessity of every man taking part in the combination 
formations. Runners were on second and third bases 
when the ball was hit sharply to the short stop, who 
threw to Kittridge, cutting Keeler off from the plate. 
The runner on second, of course, ran up to within a 
step of third base while Kittridge chased Keeler back 
toward the same bag, making motions as if to throw 
the ball. Keeler dodged, waiting for Kittridge to 
throw, intending then to make a dash for the plate. 
Keeler was within a few feet of third base when Kit- 
tredge, seeing the other runner standing flat footed on 
the other side of the bag, dived past Keeler, intent on 
touching the other runner first, then whirling and 
either touching out or throwing out Keeler, and mak- 
ing a double play. The other runner, however, hap- 
pened to be thinking and he dived for the bag and 
reached it before Kittridge could tag him with the ball. 
Kittridge whirling, saw Keeler flying towards the 
plate. He threw and as the ball left his hand he saw 
the pitcher standing on the slab, the first baseman an- 
chored to the bag, and no fielder near the plate. The 
ball went to the stand, two runs scored; and Wash- 
ington was beaten because the first baseman and 



COMBINATION PLAYS 211 

pitcher had taken too much for granted and failed to 
get into the combination. 

The story of combination plays is best illustrated by 
the ones that went wrong. The necessity of keeping 
thinking all the time, not only of what is being done, 
but of what possibly may be done, is illustrated by a 
play that cost the Chicago Cubs a game at St. Louis 
in 1908. In that play half the men on the two teams, 
and the umpire himself, were caught napping. If there 
had been two umpires instead of one on the field that 
day, Chicago probably would have won the game and 
ultimately the pennant, without the bitter struggle they 
had to do it. 

Runners were on first and third bases, one out, and 
St. Louis needed a run to win, it being in the ninth 
inning. Chance called the infield close in order to cut 
Hoelskoetter off from the plate. Billy Gilbert, who 
was the runner on first base, is a quick thinker and one 
who is likely to do unexpected and unusual things in a 
ball game. Fromme, the batter, hit sharply to Evers 
who scooped the ball on the first bound, and made a 
motion as if to hurl it to the plate. The play was 
made so rapidly Hoelskoetter turned tail and slid back 
to third base, seeing it was impossible for him to reach 
the plate. Evers, realizing instantly that a double play 
and the end of the inning was possible, leaped back- 
ward, touched Gilbert as he was racing from first to 
second, and started for first base to complete the double 
play, pleased at having outwitted Gilbert and made a 
brilliant move. Gilbert, however, was doing some 



212 TOUCHING SECOND 

rapid fire thinking and seeing for himself and his team. 
Leaping after Evers he threw out a foot and tripped 
him, sending him sprawling. Evers, still clutching the 
ball, rolled and crawled, then dived to first base and put 
his hand on it before Fromme was within ten feet of 
the bag. 

Hoelskoetter, meantime, seeing the mixup, dashed 
for the plate. Imagine the surprise of the Chicago team 
when Umpire O'Day was discovered stooping and in- 
tently watching the plate, expecting all the time Evers 
would throw the ball there. O'Day did not see Evers 
touch Gilbert, nor did he see Gilbert trip the fielder, but 
when the play to the plate was delayed, he whirled in 
time to see Evers roll to the base and beat Fromme, so 
he called Fromme out but allowed the winning run to 
score. It was not O'Day's fault, except in that he did 
not think rapidly enough. The fault lay with the league 
for furnishing only one umpire. 

How often the best laid plans to work a combina- 
tion play gang aglee is known only to the players them- 
selves, and perhaps no miscarriage of a play is so glar- 
ing as that when some slow thinker forgets to cover 
the base. Billy Bergen, catcher, of the Brooklyn club, 
is an excellent thrower to bases and he is fond of throw- 
ing, which is a bad fault, particularly when the com- 
bination is not in working order. Chicago was play- 
ing Brooklyn late in the season of 1908 when games 
were precious. The score was tied 2 to 2 with one 
man out and Hofman on second base when Bergen 
signaled for a pitch out, intending to try to catch Hof- 



COMBINATION PLAYS 213 

man off second base. The sign was so apparent and 
the intent so plain that the Chicago coachers called a 
warning to Hofman. The pitcher pitched out, Bergen 
threw. Neither the second baseman nor the short stop 
moved and the ball went on to the center fielder, allow- 
ing Hofman to score and win a game that enabled the 
Cubs to tie New York for the pennant, which perhaps 
was the costliest piece of miscarrying combination in 
years. 

A play went wrong in New York in 1909 because 
one man in the combination napped, his nap eventually 
costing the game. With a runner on second base the 
batsman hit to the right of short stop. Bridwell, see- 
ing he could not throw the batter out at first, shot the 
ball to third figuring on the man overrunning that base. 
The runner made the turn and should have been out 
by ten feet, but the third baseman failed to get into the 
play, and the run scored. Often with men on bases, a 
quick thinking infielder can fumble ground balls and 
still catch the runner who was on the bases if three men 
are in the combination and all thinking. In seven cases 
out of ten the runner will be expecting or turning to 
look at the play at first base, and can be trapped by a 
fast throw. 

Perhaps the grandest exhibition of combination 
playing ever seen in one game was in an eighteen in- 
ning pitchers' duel between Ed Reulbach, of Chicago, 
and Jack Taylor, of St. Louis in 1907. In the extra 
innings of that game Reulbach was saved again and 
again by wonderful work and some wonderful com- 



214 TOUCHING SECOND 

bination playing. No fewer than six double plays were 
executed at all corners of the infield, and in critical mo- 
ments when a tenth of a second's forgetfulness or loit- 
ering would have meant the loss of the game. 

The remarkable feature of the game was that not 
one of Chicago's double plays was made until the tenth 
inning, and the score of that game shows the way the 
Cub combination was working on that afternoon, and 
how far the men had to go to get into the plays. The 
record follows : — 

Tinker to Evers to Chance. Chance to Kling to 
Chance. Tinker to Chance. Tinker to Evers. Casey 
to Kling to Chance. Chance to Tinker to Chance. 

"The Old Gag," a play christened and used by An- 
son's infield when Pfeffer and Burns and Williamson 
were helping invent plays, was one which taught the 
succeeding generations of players how a man caught 
between bases should be run down. With the White 
Stockings never more than three men were allowed in 
the play, and to the present time all managers direct 
their men to play it that way, one man chasing the run- 
ner down near the man guarding the base, and then 
tossing the ball to him and, when the baseman turns 
the runner back, the one who has been pursuing him, 
falls in to guard the base. Thus both avenues of escape 
are closed, and a fresh runner is always ready to pur- 
sue the tiring man. The White Stocking infield 
worked "the Old Gag" to tire out pitchers of the op- 
posing team and won many games through that alone. 
They would play to let the pitcher get a good start, and 



COMBINATION PLAYS 215 

when they caught him between bases they ran him to 
a state of exhaustion, refusing to touch him until he 
surrendered from sheer weariness. They caught Rusie 
once — but the big pitcher refused to run and throwing 
both hands above his head, trotted to the bench with- 
out waiting to be touched. 

Combination plays made with the intent to catch 
runners off the bases require the greatest amount of 
exact moving and timing of both the ball and the run- 
ner. The short stop and second baseman, in order to 
catch a runner off second base, either from the pitcher 
or catcher, must assist each other and at the same time 
have the cooperation of the center fielder. The play to 
catch a runner at second base, after he has reached the 
bag, is made by the use of psychology as well as the 
hands and feet, and the infielders who study human 
nature are the most successful. The short stop and 
second baseman, as soon as they decide upon an at- 
tempt to catch the runner, communicate with each other 
by signals and commence a persistent campaign to stir 
up the runner. While their object is to get the run- 
ner two feet further from the base than he can go in 
safety, their first move is to pretend to be striving to 
"hold 'him up," which means keep him from getting a 
lead away from the base. This is a species of flattery 
by which they mislead the runner into thinking they 
are afraid he will steal third base. The fielders strive 
to arouse the runner's natural combativeness so that, 
when they appear to be trying to keep him from getting 
a lead, he naturally will strive to get as far as he can in 



216 TOUCHING SECOND 

safety. It is a paradox in baseball that it is much easier 
to catch a good base runner than to catch a bad one. 
The bad base runner cannot be tempted far enough 
away from the bag to be caught. 

All the time the short stop and second baseman know 
which is to take the real throw when it comes and the 
one who is to make the real effort is the least active of 
the two in the preliminary jockeying. The base runner 
is worked up to a pitch of combativeness and deter- 
mination to gain a few more inches of distance from 
the base by the threats of catcher or pitcher to throw, 
and by the efforts of the short stop and second base- 
man to get behind him and beat him to the base. Finally 
one of the fielders, pretending to abandon the effort, 
does something to distract the attention of the runner 
and gives him an opening to take a longer lead from 
the base. If the runner still is wary, the fielder makes 
another move towards the bag, but laughingly stops 
and seems to give up the attempt. At that instant the 
pitcher or catcher makes the throw and the fielder who 
has been least active in the maneuvering covers sec- 
ond base, meets the throw and, unless the base runner 
is alert and thinking every instant, he will be blocked 
off the base and caught. 

Bill Lange, Dahlen and Egan made the play in a 
strange way. Egan and Dahlen jockeyed with the 
runner and then both appeared to cease the effort and 
returned to their natural positions, drawing the run- 
ner further away from the plate while Lange, creep- 
ing closer and closer, finally came with a terrific burst 



COMBINATION PLAYS 217 

of speed from center field and met the throw at the base. 

The play to catch runners off first or third bases 
is much simpler, depending entirely upon its unex- 
pectedness. The first baseman usually makes no effort 
to mislead the runner, holding steadily to his natural 
position and when the signal for the throw is made he 
makes no move, depending upon a quick dash to reach 
the base just as the ball does, and in time to block off 
the runner. The play must be executed in perfect 
timing. If the baseman starts even a fraction of a 
second too soon his move warns the runner what to 
expect, and if he is a fraction of a second late in reach- 
ing the bag, the ball will go on to right field. 

The beauty of these combination plays to catch run- 
ners on the bases lies chiefly in executing them in the 
crises when some brilliant coup is necessary to break 
a winning rally of the attacking team. The plays are 
much easier to execute in such situations, as the attack- 
ing team always is over-eager and flushed with excite- 
ment and expectation, and therefore likely to be daring 
to the point of recklessness. The team which, either 
because of long experience in playing together, or by 
the power of a cool headed leader, maintains its self- 
possession and keeps thinking instead of falling into 
panic, frequently can stop the rallies of opponents, and 
save the pitcher and the game. There is nothing that 
steadies a pitcher and a defensive team, or stops an at- 
tacking club quicker than to catch a runner asleep on 
the bases in a critical moment. 



218 TOUCHING SECOND 

In this particular of catching runners in the crucial 
moments of games John Kling was the greatest in the 
business. His ability and his coolness in that style of 
play alone was enough to stamp him the best of catchers. 
Kling probably did not catch as many runners in a sea- 
son as some other catchers did, but he caught them al- 
ways at the right moments, when they counted, and 
scores of games won by the Cubs during their champion- 
ship career was due to that alone. Kling had a great 
advantage in having such an infield to throw to, but 
when Kling signaled his intention of throwing the 
others were so full of confidence that they executed the 
play with absolute certainty. 

Unless the infielders think quickly, follow signals 
closely and above all, possess the faculty of meeting 
a thrown ball at the right spot, the combination plays 
of the team fall to pieces. Some of the best players in 
the country have failed wretchedly with certain teams, 
not because they were bad ball players, but because the 
men with whom they were trying to work in combina- 
tions failed at their end of the play. Spectators can- 
not tell, when a play at second base miscarries, which 
player was at fault. When there is a bad ball player 
and a good one working together, especially around 
second base, the better ball player looks worse than 
the bad one. This is because the good player always is 
trying to do something and because the other man fails 
to get into the play properly, the man who tried it is 
made to appear a blunderer. 



COMBINATION PLAYS 219 

Perhaps the worst fault, as far as team work goes, 
an infielder may possess, is coming late to meet thrown 
balls from any direction, as his delay is fatal to com- 
bination plays. There is one of the finest ball players 
in the country today, who has been sent back to the 
minor leagues ; a fast man, clever, "game," who throws 
well from any position, who is aggressive and thinks 
quickly, yet is a second rate player because he lets the 
throw come to him instead of coming quickly to meet it. 
The throw from other infielders goes over the base be- 
fore he arrives, and he steps onto the bag after catching 
the ball, instead of being on the bag, stretching to meet 
the throw. The distance he loses is the difference be- 
tween "safe" and "out." Throws from the catcher he 
meets back of the line. To catch the ball he must slack 
his speed, and before he can recover from the shock 
of the catch and make a new motion to touch the run- 
ner, he has lost the vital trice. The man is just one step 
short of being a great ball player. He knows his own 
fault as well as anyone, but is unable to correct it. The 
nine inches or a foot he loses by the habit, sent him back 
to the minor leagues, which shows how vital the element 
of time is in combination plays. 



CHAPTER XV 

SPRING TRAINING* 

Lost river had found itself, flooded the "Valley, of 
Vapors" and lost itself again, leaving the grounds 
around West Baden, Ind., plastered with two inches of 
alluvial mud. Sawdust poured upon the mud made 
paths by which the guests could pass dry-shod from the 
hotels to the bubbling springs scattered through the 
valley. 

Along one of those paths a man, lithe, active and 
graceful, swathed in heavy flannels, sweaters and a 
blanket coat, was pirouetting wildly. Three long, gliding 
leaps, a rapid waltz turn, a triple reverse, a gyroscopic 
spin, three more long, gliding steps, a series of reversing 
revolutions so rapidly executed it looked as if the man's 
legs would become tangled, three more steps— and so 
on until the human top came spinning up to where 
some spectators were sitting on a fence. 

"What the dickens are you up to now, Brownie?" 
called one. 

Mordecai Brown, premier pitcher of the baseball 
world, panting and flushed, stopped spinning, leaned 
against the fence, laughed and said: "Learning to 
field bunts." 

Then he flashed off down a side path, keeping up 
his imitation of a gyroscope which had slipped an 

•Reprinted from THK AMERICAN MAGAZINE and copyrighted by it. Additions 
and corrections by Evers. 

220 



SPRING TRAINING 221 

eccentric. The crowd watched him waltz far across 
the mud-crusted valley, spin along another path, and 
finally sprint to the hotel. 

Six months afterward the reason for his eccentric 
dance was made plain. The Chicago and Pittsburg 
baseball clubs were fighting for the pennant of the 
National League. Tommy Leach was on second base 
and Fred Clarke at bat. Clarke bunted down the 
third base line. Brown, who was pitching, leaped for- 
ward, seized the ball and, while seemingly spinning 
like a top on his feet, threw with terrific force to 
Steinfeldt, and Leach was caught sliding into third 
base. The play was magnificently executed and the 
Chicago crowd that saw it went wild over the marvelous 
fielding of Brown. But that play, which came near 
giving Chicago its fourth straight pennant, was pre- 
pared for on the mud-plastered field at West Baden 
early in March at the start of the training season. 

In the spring, when the sap in the trees and the en- 
thusiasm in the baseball fans begin to flow, about five 
hundred ball players belonging to the eighteen major 
league clubs move below the frost belt, scattering from 
California to Florida, to train for the season. Ten days 
to two weeks later the Northern minor league clubs 
follow their example, and by March 20 more than 
fifteen hundred professional baseball players are train- 
ing, in perhaps fifty Southern towns and cities. 

Correspondents with vivid imaginations and even 
more vivid lack of experience begin to telegraph home 
the "news" from the team and to stir the enthusiasm 



222 TOUCHING SECOND 

of the fans. They tell of Johnson "showing midseason 
form," of the marvelous work of the new infielders and 
the promising showing of the young pitchers. The 
sporting page blossoms from the evergreen of billiards 
and bowling and the first box score of the year buds out. 

Most of the followers of baseball imagine that the 
spring trip of the teams is a pleasure junket. They have 
no idea of the hard work, the pains, aches, strenuous 
self-denial, and hours of thought involved. Most fans 
think baseball is merely a question of natural speed of 
foot, quickness of eye, strength of arm, accuracy of 
throwing. To that class of fans is due the perennial 
hope of every town that the local team will "win the 
pennant this year, sure." And to them the training 
season is one long, jubilant period of hopefulness. They 
base their hopes on the theory that a youngster who 
can throw, hit and field well, and is fast of foot, is a 
good ball player. 

It seems useless iconoclasm to refute the idea, but the 
fact is that baseball, like every other trade or profession, 
consists more of experience and hard work than of 
natural ability, and it is hard work that counts for 
most. An average boy, with average brain, average 
legs, arms, and health, can in time become a great 
baseball player if he will work hard, work long and 
work faithfully. The more natural ability to run, throw 
and hit he possesses, the greater his success will be, 
which applies to every other line of endeavor as well. 

On April 15, or thereabout, the annual cataclysm 
known as "opening the season" strikes the United 



SPRING TRAINING 223 

States, but the real start is six weeks earlier. All 
winter the owners and managers have been busy striving 
to strengthen their teams. A club finished fifth, per- 
haps, with eighteen men on the pay roll. Of these 
Casey and Wiegman were failures and were relegated 
to the minors. Dorsey and Grant were traded for 
Bjones. Seven new men were drafted from minor 
leagues and five were purchased. Three youngsters 
from independent clubs are to be given a trial and 
two of last year's tryout squad, "planted" with a friendly 
minor league club, have been recalled. Of the eighteen 
new men the manager hopes one will develop enough 
strength to replace Jenkins at short stop or Yoder in 
the outfield; that one of his eight trial pitchers will 
prove good enough to win a regular berth, and his 
wildest dream is that two will be so promising as to 
warrant keeping them as utility men to be broken into 
the team work of his club. With the trainer, secretary, 
correspondents, wives of players, the training party 
of a major league club frequently numbers fifty persons, 
and on his spring tours to California Comiskey usually 
takes about one hundred on a special train. 

Major league teams are scattered from Los Angeles 
to Jacksonville, and there is scarcely a city or town in 
the South or West that will not receive a visit from 
some team before the season opens. The movement, 
however, is more and more toward permanent train- 
ing camps, and against exhibition tours. Some of the 
teams already have purchased grounds or secured long 
term leases, and are preparing to build baths and 



224 TOUCHING SECOND 

gymnasiums. Some purpose operating their training 
plants all winter and sending the young players drafted 
or purchased from minor leagues there early in the 
winter to develop under the eye of an experienced 
coach, who will turn them over to the manager ready 
for play. 

The scarcity of really good players has compelled 
the movement toward these permanent schools for 
educating and developing players, and the business as 
an amusement enterprise has become so remunerative 
that the returns justify the expense. 

The sun is shining brightly, the air soft and redolent 
of the scent of growing things, spikes sink into warm 
earth. Before ten o'clock thirty or more men, let loose 
from the snow drifts of the North and a long winter 
of inactivity, race out onto the open field for the first 
time and begin throwing a dozen balls around. 

The veterans, chary regarding their arms, throw with 
slow, long-arm swings, while the youngsters, proud 
possessors of "strong whips,'' begin to throw harder 
and harder. The crack of the ball against gloves beats 
a steady tattoo above which the warning shouts of the 
manager rise: 

"Save some of that ginger — ^you'll need it in a 
couple of days." 

For an hour the players warm up, throwing, run- 
ning easily, scooping balls. The warmth tempts them 
to greater efforts, but experience warns them to resist. 
Suddenly the "high-low" game starts. 



SPRING TRAINING 225 

"High-low" isn't a game, properly speaking; it is a 
torture. It is the ball player's invention for tormenting 
the body and limbering the muscles. It looks simple, 
almost childish, but it is one of the greatest condition- 
ing exercises ever invented. The game consists in 
throwing the ball short distances either just too high, 
just too low, or just too far to the right or left for the 
victim to reach it without a sudden movement, leap or 
dive. Half a dozen men play at once, and the principal 
skill lies in looking at the top of Jones' head and throw- 
ing the ball at Smith's feet. It looks easy, but outsiders 
who attempt to stay in the circle fall exhausted in five 
minutes trying to hold the pace. 

By noon the individual players are beginning to 
drop out of the groups, and start some form of exercise 
designed to fit their own needs, slow running, gym- 
nastic exercises, or some like hobby. One o'clock comes. 
The players, dripping with perspiration in heavy flannels 
and sweaters, have forgotten time, and some of them 
have forgotten caution. The ball cracks harder against 
the gloves. They are 'hard at work — playing. 

"Everyone run in" orders the manager, and be- 
fore the words are out of his mouth a line wheels across 
the field, straggles out the gate, and starts on the long 
jog through town to the bath 'house, perhaps two miles 
away. For half an hour they jostle, slap, and scramble 
around under the showers, throw themselves down, 
one after another, for a hurried massage by the over- 
worked trainer, dress rapidly and are off to dinner. 



226 TOUCHING SECOND 

"Nothing doling this afternoon," says the manager — 
and the first day's training is over. 

After dinner that evening Jenks, the star pitcher, 
cautiously flexes his "salary wing" and remarks to 
Bjornsen: "I don't think she's going to be so very 
sore." By ten o'clock all the players except the in- 
terested recruit from a country town are in bed, and 
insistent calls for the trainer from half a do^en rooms 
prove that the athletes already are feeling the effects of 
the first day. 

If ever waiters suffered for their sins those who at- 
tempt to serve a ball club on the morning of the second 
day of training are the ones. The breakfast room at 
ten o'clock is like a cage of sore-headed bears, each 
suffering with rheumatism. The athletes limp down- 
stairs, hobble around the lobby, nurse sore arms and 
strive to revive quarrels two years old. The wretched 
trainer confesses to a sympathizer that thirty ball play- 
ers wanted to whip him because he could not rub them 
all at the same time. By eleven o'clock a thin red line 
of cripples hobbles into the park, limps onto the dia- 
mond like a G. A. R. parade, and the sound of creaking 
muscles and groaning swear words arises. The man- 
ager, who 'has been waiting an hour, grins and says 
nothing. He understands. 

There is no flinching. Every man knows he must 
work the soreness out of his muscles as quickly as pos- 
sible. With much grunting and many facial contor- 
tions the players throw and run, stiflly at first, but as the 
muscles warm up the aches disappear and by noon the 



SPRING TRAINING 227 

squad is going faster than ever. At one o'clock the 
manager again calls off work for the day. The third 
day they are stiff er than ever, but not so sore, and on 
the fourth day they have so far recovered that morning 
and afternoon practice is inaugurated and the bats, for- 
bidden up to that time, are produced. 

The collective work of a team, which is here described 
typically, is only part of the real process of condition- 
ing. Massage, baths, and the use of every conceivable 
device, goes on steadily fourteen hours a day during 
the preparatory season. The players are w^orking for 
individual condition and effectiveness in their own way. 
Those persons who imagine that baseball is a "snap" 
or some special gift of nature should have been in the 
training camp of the New York Giants a few years 
ago, and their ideas would have changed. Early in 
the training season the word had flashed around the 
circuit : "Matty's arm is gone." 

Translated, that meant a revision of all the pennant 
calculations of all the clubs in the National League. If 
Mathewson's arm really was permanently injured the 
New York club ceased to be a championship factor. 

On the training field a few days later nearly forty 
men were hard at work. Over at one side a graceful, 
handsome, boyish-looking man was throwing slowly 
and with evident caution to a young catcher. Slowly, 
and studying every move in order to avoid jerking or 
twisting a damaged shoulder, he kept pitching, trying 
to "throw the soreness out." He had drawn a little 
cross in the dirt upon which he pivoted his right foot, 



228 TOUCHING SECOND 

and two feet in front of that and a foot to the left was 
a hole in the sand. As he threw he swung "off his 
stride/' and instead of planting his left foot straight in 
front he swung it into the hole to the left. He had 
changed his pitching motion to accommodate the sore 
shoulder and prevent adding to the strain. Presently 
he swung his arm slowly overhand. The ball floated 
away, seemed to hesitate in midair, dropped downward 
and to the right with a slow, twisting curve motion. 

"Here, what's that, Matty?" a spectator called to 
him. 

"That's the fader," 'he replied, smiling. 

We all had read of the "fadeaway" and believed it 
one of the spring nature fakes evolved by imaginative 
reporters. But it was true. Mathewson, realizing 
that he might never again be strong enough to pitch the 
fast "jump" ball or the wonderful fast curve that had 
made him the greatest pitching sensation of years, had 
deliberately set to work and by steady, persistent prac- 
tice had evolved a new "system of slants" by which he 
came near revolutionizing pitching. Hour after hour, 
despite the deadening pain in his shoulder, he kept at 
it, pitching, pitching, twisting his hand a little less, a 
little more, stepping ten times to one spot as he pitched, 
then ten times to a spot two inches to the left or the 
right, to find how the change in stride would affect the 
ball, he worked until he developed one of the most 
puzzling curves ever pitched. How many hours of suf- 
fering and hard work were required to perfect his 




Christy Mathewson. He has jnst released his famous 
"fadeaway." 



SPRING TRAINING 229 

"fadeaway" and make him again one of the greatest 
of pitchers, no one knows. 

Players of the present day are prone to scoff at the 
tales of the prowess of "Matty" Kilroy, better known 
las "Bazzazaz," a left-handed pitcher who performed 
marvels. Most modern pitchers declare that under 
present conditions Kilroy would have been a failure. 
The little left-hander, after years of triumph, retired 
because -his arm was hopelessly worn out. In spite of 
that fact Tom Burns, when he assumed charge of the 
Chicago Club in 1898, resurrected Kilroy, whose arm 
was so weak, according to his own admission, he 
"couldn't break a pane of glass at fifty feet." 

Yet for one season and part of another 'he pitched 
against the strongest clubs and beat them regularly. 

Kilroy's success was due almost entirely to his 
"Bazzazaz" balk, which he evolved by persistent train- 
ing. He was the only pitcher who ever balked without 
balking — if such a thing is possible. In the first four 
innings of the first game he pitched against Baltimore 
after Burns resurrected him, nine men reached first base. 
He caught six of them off the base and, although two 
umpires watched every move he made, they declared 
that under the rules he did not balk. 
- Kilroy explained after his permanent retirement, his 
' system of training by which he acquired the "bazzazaz 
balk." 

"I see the old soup bone was ready for the under- 
taker," he said. "So I goes to work on the balk. I 
always had a good balk motion, but wanted a better 



230 TOUCHING SECOND 

one. I spent half the winter in the side yard at home 
with a chalk mark on the wall for first base and another 
on the fence for the home plate. I practiced morning 
and afternoon, making from two hundred and fifty to 
four hundred throws a day with my wrist and fore- 
arm trying to hit the first base line while looking at 
the other one and without moving either my feet or 
body. 

"By practicing I got so I could shoot the ball faster 
to first base with wrist and forearm than I could pitch 
it to the plate with a full swing. That's all there was 
to it. Just look straight at the plate, pull your hands 
up against your breast, raise your left one to the level 
of your ear, then drive the ball to first without looking 
until after it starts, and you've got him. The umpire 
can't see whether you look before you throw or not." 

He did get them. Probably he made twenty thou- 
sand practice throws at the chalk mark, but he per- 
fected the motion that enabled him to pitch two years 
after his arm was *'dead." 

Ed Walsh damaged his shoulder in the strenuous 
American League campaign of 1908, and reported in 
1909 unable to pitch the spit ball which had made him 
one of the wonders of the baseball world. His shoulder 
was so "bound" he could not swing his arm straight 
overhand to get the sharp drop to the ball. Robbed 
of his chief asset, Walsh set to work and within a few 
weeks, by steady, slow work, developed another spit 
ball, pitched slightly sidearm and curving outward, that 
proved almost as effective as the other had been. 



SPRING TRAINING 231 

The three most remarkable instances of training, per- 
haps, are found in the cases of Radbourne, who pitched 
practically two thirds of all the games played by Prov- 
idence one season, and pitched the last third of the sea- 
son alone ; Jimmy Ryan, the famous old outfielder, who, 
after thirty years, still throws well; and Theodore 
Breitenstein, who pitched for St. Louis twenty years- 
ago, and now is one of the star pitchers of the South- 
ern League. The odd coincidence (if such it is) is 
that these three men all had the same hobby, and both 
Ryan and Breitenstein adopted it from Radbourne. 
They treated their arms through their stomachs. Dur- 
ing the spring training season they resorted to the old- 
fashioned treacle (sulphur and molasses), taking large 
doses night and morning. Ryan says he started using 
treacle on Radbourne's advice, and believes that his long 
service in baseball was due in large proportion to the 
spring tonic. 

Perfect condition is the aim of spring training, con- 
dition of blood and digestion being held as important 
as condition of arms and legs. Condition is the big- 
gest asset of any club during the first six weeks of a 
season and counts more than "class," as one team is 
about as good as another mechanically during that 
period. The manager of a weak team who can bring 
it North to open the season in better physical condition 
than his rivals wins many games from stronger clubs 
because his men are further advanced toward playing 
form. This fact accounts for the early season strength 
of the Southernmost clubs of the major leagues, who 



232 TOUCHING SECOND 

usually have better weather at home than Boston, 
Cleveland, Detroit and Chicago, and condition more 
rapidly, while the Northern clubs are set back by bad 
weather. 

Comiskey, owner of the Chicago White Stockings, 
usually has the best trained and conditioned team in the 
major leagues, and not only starts the season that way 
but continues the training throughout the year. He 
has won championships on condition alone, his team 
outlasting stronger clubs that have neglected to keep 
in condition. 

Yet Comiskey has little system in training men be- 
yond requiring steady work. His great success lies 
in his judgment in picking ball players who have brains 
enough and ambition enough to keep in good condition 
all the time. 

Conditioning for baseball is unlike training for any 
other sport, and many college boys, accustomed to 
training for short football seasons or for the crew, reach 
an "edge" within a few weeks and break down before 
the season is a month old. The ball player must begin 
March i to work for the maximum of speed, agility 
and strength, yet store up enough reserve power to 
carry him to October 15. 

A layman unaccustomed to the idea of the possi- 
bilities of remaking the body by exercising would be 
amazed at what can be accomplished. A team of thirty 
men arriving at the spring camp usually is between five 
and six hundred pounds heavier than it will be at mid- 
season. The ordinary man would imagine amputation 



SPRING TRAINING 233 

to be about the only method of .reducing six hundred 
pounds in thirty days. How a man, who looks hard, 
feels hard, does not seem fat, and is in better physical 
shape than ninety-nine out of a hundred men, is going 
to take off twenty-five pounds is a mystery to an out- 
sider, yet they do it without great trouble. Frank 
Chance lost fourteen pounds in one afternoon at Phila- 
delphia in two games during his debut as a major league 
catcher. 

Overall and Hofman met at the training camp in 
March, 1909. 

"I've got to take off twenty-five pounds," said the 
giant pitcher. 

"What are you going to pitch at, this year?" 

"One hundred and ninety-four — I think I carried 
too much weight last year. What are you going to 
do?" 

"I'm going to put on five more pounds. I'll be 
stronger with more weight." 

Overall kept his record of weight as follo^vs : 

March 5, 219; March 22, 206; March 29, 202; April 
5, 199; April 10, 192; April 14 (opening season), 
194/^; July 4 (midseason) 193; October 15 (close), 

195. 

Hofman, playing just as hard, reported nine pounds 
heavier than he was the previous season, and added 
five more pounds before the season opened, and both 
were in almost perfect condition during the entire 
season. 

Every player seems to have his own system, and 



234 TOUCHING SECOND 



some of the methods used are laughable, and few are 
of any practical value. One young catcher who joined 
a National League club two years ago brought five 
gallons of iron, beef and wine in jugs in his trunk to 
make him strong. Cannon balls that weigh twenty 
pounds are used to roll over the abdomen, iron rolling 
pins, special bandages, a thousand kinds of rubbing oils 
and lotions, ranging from patent medicines to horse 
liniments and oil made by boiling down fishing worms ; 
vibrators of all sizes and shapes, bandages, arm bakers 
to be superheated with electricity, and rubber bands are 
employed. 

Hotel rooms are turned into gymnasia, and one of 
the funniest sights of a year is to sit in a card game 
with half a dozen players swathed like puffy mum- 
mies in blankets, sweaters and flannels until they look 
as if they were starting on an Arctic journey. 

One spring a cold rain fell upon the Chicago Cubs 
training camp, and continued to fall incessantly, dis- 
mally putting an end to practice just as the players 
were working off the first soreness. 

The dejected athletes, knowing they would have to 
undergo the soreness and stiffness all over again, moped 
in the hotel. Toward the middle of the gloomy, cold 
afternoon some one proposed to turn a bath room into 
a Turkish bath establishment. The steam was turned 
on, cracks stuffed and the hot water was allowed to 
pour into the tub until the room was superheated and 
filled with steam. Four husky players, in Adamic con- 
dition, proceeded to swath themselves in blankets and 



SPRING TRAINING 235 



take off weight. Half a dozen bath towels, folded, 
were placed on the steam radiator, and the players took 
turns sitting on the radiator with half a dozen blankets 
wrapped around them. Chance's turn came. He ad- 
justed the blankets, parted them carefully, and sat 
down. Steinfeldt had a narrow escape from being 
killed, and Chance to this day thinks it was Steinfeldt 
who took.the towels off the radiator. 

Brown, the three-fingered wonder, has a system of 
exercising that would make his fortune and banish 
corpulency as a human ailment if ordinary beings could 
endure it. Brown invented the system himself and uses 
it night and morning when desiring to reduce flesh or 
strengthen the muscles of abdomen or legs without run- 
ning. Every spring he organizes a class in calisthenics, 
from which no one, not even the poor correspondent, 
is exempted if his room happens to connect with 
Brown's. It is a common sight during the spring 
training to see six or seven men, a la natural, each with 
the coverlet from his bed spread upon the floor, trying 
to follow the movements and orders of the premier 
pitcher. 

Brown counts slowly — one, two — up to thirteen, and 
at every number the class struggles to follow his move- 
ments. The pauses between counts are more painful 
than the movements themselves. After two minutes 
the novices are doubled up like small boys who have 
eaten too many green apples ; in three minutes the fat 
men weaken, and in four Brown usually is left to con- 



236 TOUCHING SECOND 



tinue the exercise alone until he stops to assess fines on 
the delinquents. 

Anyone can try Brown's exercise. It looks easy. 

Brown lies on his back full length upon the floor, his 
heels together and thumbs touching each other on the 
floor back of his head, with palms up. He counts one, 
raises his feet six inches, ankles tight together, and 
holds them there an instant. At the count of two he 
raises the legs to an angle of 45 degrees, and stops 
them again ; three, the legs are raised slowly until per- 
pendicular with the body; four, the feet are lowered 
until over his face; five, he drops them until the toes 
touch the floor above his head ; six, the feet are raised 
halfway up again ; seven, they are again perpendicular ; 
eight, they drop to 45 degrees ; nine, to six inches from 
the floor; ten, the heels touch the floor; eleven, the arms 
are raised slowly until perpendicular; twelve, they are 
dropped outward until the backs touch the floor; thir- 
teen (and worst), the body is raised slowly to a sitting 
position without the aid of the hands. Then he rolls 
back and starts over again. 

Brown can go through the exercise a dozen times 
without breathing hard when in perfect condition, and 
he does it morning and night during the training sea- 
son. Some of his students have gone through the 
exercise four times. 

With five hours of running, throwing and fielding, 
several miles of jogging back and forth from the bath 
houses to grounds, and hot baths, rub downs, boxing, 
wrestling and walking, combined with individual exer- 



SPRING TRAINING 237 

cises in rooms and massage at least once a day, the 
player's day is fairly busy during the training trip. 

The first week is a constant fight on the part of the 
manager to keep the men from injuring themselves by 
overwork, especially if the weather be fine. After two 
weeks it is a fight to make them work at all, for the 
moment a player begins to get near to what he thinks 
is playing condition he begins to shirk the routine work, 
and strives to save all his strength for the playing sea- 
son. About all he wants to do during that period is to 
bat. A ball player would get up at two o'clock any 
morning to bat. During the second stage the pitchers, 
who must condition their arms more slowly, do most of 
the work, and the others practice batting. 

Batting is the bane of a manager's existence. One 
spring, while moving southward with his team, Fred 
Clarke conspired with a baggage master to send the 
bats astray. That kept the Pirates from batting for 
two days. Then Wagner showed up at the grounds 
with a five-cent bat he had purchased from a small boy 
and started batting practice. The manager cannot 
keep the players from hitting, so he turns their batting 
to his own purposes, and whenever they hit a fair ball 
!ie orders them to "run it out" hard to first base and 
jog all the way around the bases. Even that fails to 
cure their insatiable desire to hit. 

As Frank Schulte remarked to Harry Lumley one 
day: "Lum, if you had a million dollars, you'd hire the 
best pitchers in the country and make them take turns 
pitching to you." 



238 TOUCHING SECOND 

Occasionally a manager is as eager as his men dur- 
ing the early days of training, and the result usually is 
disastrous. Frank Bowerman, who managed the Bos- 
ton club one season, was the victim of his own over- 
anxiety to get the team into condition. Knowing that 
his team could not compare in strength with some of 
the other clubs in the league, he had a theory that, with 
his fine squad of young pitchers, he could get the start 
on the other clubs by more rapid conditioning, "spread 
eagle" the field during the early part of the season at 
least, and make a good showing. Before the club had 
been in training three days he began to coach his young 
pitchers in fielding bunts, and for three weeks he kept 
the youngsters working desperately. They started the 
season in finer condition than any team in the league; 
finer, but not better — and, after a brief flash of winning 
form the entire pitching staff went to pieces and never 
was in good condition again during the season. They 
were overtrained before they started. 

"Cap" Anson, leader of the famous old White Stock- 
ings, was one of the hardest and most faithful trainers 
ever at the head of a ball club. His system of condi- 
tioning consisted largely of running. Ned Hanlon also 
was a believer in running to reduce weight, strengthen 
the legs and add speed. Both of them blundered sadly 
because they seldom adapted the training to the in- 
dividual, and gave the one-hundred-and-forty-pound 
athlete the same prescription they forced upon the two- 
hundred-pound fat men. Hanlon, when managing the 
Cincinnati club, came near ruining one of the greatest 



SPRING TRAINING 239 

of pitchers — Orval Overall — by ordering him to run 
around the ball park ten times every morning. Overall 
was big, but not fat, and the running so weakened him 
he never pitched good ball for that club. 

Anson was one of the most tireless runners in the 
world, and training under him was a nightmare to his 
players. "Anse" would drive his men for three hours 
in practice, then lead them in long runs, placing him- 
self at the head of the procession and setting a steady, 
jogging pace. If he felt well the morning training was 
a Marathon route. 

One afternoon in New Orleans years ago Anson 
ordered ten laps around the field after practice, which 
on the old grounds v^as nearly ten miles. The after- 
noon was hot, one of those wilting Southern spring 
days that sap the life out of men fresh from the rigors 
of Northern winter. The players fell into line, grum- 
bling and scowling. Back of left field a high board 
fence separated the ball grounds from one of the old 
cemeteries and near the foul line a board was off the 
fence. The first time the panting athletes passed the 
hole in the fence Dahlen gave a quick glance to see if 
Anson was looking and dived head first through the 
gap into the cemetery. The others continued on around 
the lot, but on the second round Lange, Ryan, Kittridge 
and Decker dived after Dahlen and joined him in the 
cemetery. The third trip saw the lin^ dwindle to four 
followers, with Anson still leading. The fourth found 
only Anson and poor Bill Schriver, who- had the bad 



240 TOUCHING SECOND 

luck to be directly behind his captain, plodding on, and 
on the next trip Schriver made the leap for life. 

Majestically alone, Anson toiled on while the on- 
lookers writhed with delight. Perhaps their behavior 
aroused suspicion, or the absence of following foot- 
steps attracted "Cap's" attention. He stopped, looked 
at the vacant field, a grim grin overspread his red face, 
and he resumed the jogging. Straight to that fence he 
plodded, and sticking his head through the hole, he be- 
held his team leaning against the above-ground tombs, 
smoking and laughing. Just for that he marshalled 
them into line again and, sitting in the stand, watched 
them grimly until every man had completed ten rounds. 

It is compulsory training such as that which makes 
the players dread training trips, especially those who 
believe running long distances injures their speed. They 
are willing enough workers along their own lines of 
conditioning. 

Arms and legs, to the present-day ball player, are 
what complexion is to a woman, and they devote more 
time and care to them. The attention bestowed upon 
a throwing arm by a player after his second or third 
year of training passes belief, and one who has suffered 
an attack of "Charley Horse" divides half this leisure 
time between his arm and his legs. 

"Charley Horse" is peculiarly a baseball ailment, 
consisting of displacement and stricture of leg muscles, 
most commonly the Sartorial. It is the indication of 
"muscle binding" or hardening of the muscles. Com- 
monly the ailment is brought about, not by running, but 



SPRING TRAINING 241 

by quick stopping at bases. The player who "stops up 
on his feet," instead of "hitting the dirt," is certain to 
acquire the injury within a short time. The over- 
worked muscle, slipping out of place, knots itself into a 
great lump and exerts pressure on all surrounding 
muscles, producing lameness. Rubbing with volatile 
oils and steady massaging serve to press the muscle back 
into position, but the "horse" returns at the next seri- 
ous strain. When you see a player make a long slide 
which appears unnecessary, the reason is that he would 
rather rip six inches of skin off his thigh than stop 
standing up and take chances of "horsing" himself. 

The frequency of such injuries is a source of sur- 
prise to non-players, and explains the extreme atten- 
tion bestowed upon legs during the spring training by 
players, manager and trainer. For each modern team 
carries a trainer, and, usually, during the spring trip, 
an assistant. The trainer is an expert masseur, some- 
thing of a medical practitioner, surgeon, nurse, osteo- 
path, bat boy, assistant ticket taker, general all-around 
man, and the object of the wrath of every player who 
happens to have a grievance. 

To judge the "snap" a trainer has, Bert Semmons, 
trainer of the Chicago club, kept a record of his work 
one season. He massaged an average of eleven men a 
day from March i to October i6, some of them morn- 
ing, afternoon and evening, treated i8i cuts, wounds, 
abrasions, "sliders" (which means patches of skin torn 
off in sliding), sprains and broken bones, including 42 



242 TOUCHIISTG SECOND 

spike cuts, and his record shows he used nearly forty 
quarts of aseptic lotion. 

At the end of the first ten days of training, the sore- 
ness and stiffness has disappeared and the men are be- 
ginning to enjoy their work. Perhaps a couple of 
young pitchers are disabled because they worked too 
hard. Every pitcher in the squad has a sore arm, but 
unless the soreness is high in the shoulder it is natural 
and must be worked out. Thus far no pitcher has tried 
to curve a ball, and the batters are hitting viciously 
and longing to see some "real pitching," which testifies 
that the pitchers are using only speed. 

About the tenth day, under ordinary weather condi- 
tions, the manager selects a '"regular" team, makes up 
a club of youngsters, and orders a five-inning game. 
From the moment the teams are announced, the hottest 
kind of friendly rivalry divides the club and the series 
of fierce battles between the "Regulars" and the 
"Yanigans," who are trying to win their spurs, begins. 
The youngsters usually win, because they work harder, 
hoping to secure positions, while the veterans would 
lose a game rather than take a chance on damaging 
themselves. 

After that games are played every fair day, and there 
is^enough squabbling and fighting and noise to fill a 
championship season. 

The manager pays little or no attention to the re- 
sults of the games, but they give him the opportunity 
to study the movements of his young fellows in action. 
He judges them more by the way they try to do any- 



SPRING TRAINING 243 

thing, and by what they try to do, than by what they 
actually accomplish. ^'Toots" Hofman, a youthful 
player now moving up rapidly, won the applause of one 
of the most astute baseball judges by the way he made 
four errors. He tried for the ball in a way that showed 
what he could do when he rounded into condition. 

Up to a few years ago March 1 7 was a great day in 
the training camps of all major league clubs, for on 
that day the Irish and the Dutch met in the fiercest 
struggle of the season. But baseball has become too 
cosmopolitan. No longer can the Harp and the Carp 
monopolize the "great American game," and the St. 
Patrick's day contest has been generally abandoned 
because the Irish were forced to line up something like 
this: Dmitrius, 1 f, Mike c f, Ole ss, Pierre 3 b, 
Kzysxzki, i b. Kicking Mule, 2 b, Israel, r f, Colorado 
Madura, c, MacGregor, p. 

By March 25 the permanent training grounds are 
deserted and the movement No.rthward begins, the 
teams marching homeward by easy stages, playing ex- 
hibition games with the minor league clubs along a zig- 
zag route. The first real opponents are encountered, 
and at last the batters, who have been longing for an 
opportunity to hit against real pitching, have their de- 
sire satisfied. The minor leaguers, primed to trounce 
their noted foes, work desperately. Young pitchers 
with wonderful curves, and weird control, shoot the ball 
recklessly around heads worth $25,000 cash to the big 
league clubs, and keep the timid and self-careful stars 
dodging and running. 



244 TOUCHING SECOND 

The stars see curves for the first time and the results 
are laughable. The big league sluggers, who hit any 
kind of pitching in the season, swing wildly at the 
garden variety of "round house curve," and miss spit 
balls two feet. The major league club usually wins on 
its experience, seldom on its hitting, for it requires 
about two weeks for them to begin to hit the curves. 

But the team is beginning to shape into condition. 
The men hit better, ,run faster, and throw with more 
confidence. Some pitcher, more daring than the others, 
pitches a few curves when defeat threatens his club in- 
stead of using all speed and slow ones. The manager 
grumbles at it, but secretly is pleased at the advanced 
condition of the pitcher. The weaknesses of the young 
recruits have become glaringly apparent and each team 
leaves a trail of discards along the route. 

About April i the athletes, sunburned, hardened, 
almost down to weight, escape from the hot bread and 
cottenseed-oil belt and cross the line cheering at the 
prospect of real hotels and real food. Before them are 
the stronger minor league clubs which will give them 
real practice and perhaps a few beatings. 

The managers discard all the men they do not in- 
tend to keep and the regular team settles down to per- 
fect its team work. The training season is over for 
most of the youngsters. They are sold, released con- 
ditionally to minor leagues, or released outright. They 
are not yet ready for "fast company." With the squad 
trimmed down to twenty-two players, the real work 
starts. The veteran infielders and the manager begin 



SPRING TRAINING 245 

to break in the new player to the inside work of the 
team. Hours and hours are spent devising signals and 
planning the batting order, and the team lines up as it 
will at the start of the season. 

There is no need for the manager to spur his men 
now. The players are working desperately, and those 
who have shirked do double work to be ready. They 
are as excited as actors on the eve of producing a new 
piece. 

Eight days before the date for opening the season 
the manager sends one pitcher "the full route" — nine 
innings — and studies carefully the condition of the 
man. His shows well. It is a certainty he will pitch 
the opening game. After that three pitchers in succes- 
sion work the full game. The men chosen rejoice. 
They are the "regulars" for that season. The re- 
maining games of the practice season the pitchers work 
only a few innings as a sort of preparation for the com- 
ing games — the ones that count. 

The new uniforms are donned for the first time; a 
brass band blares ; a great crowd iroars its welcome ; the 
mayor throws out a new white ball and a gentleman 
with a bull-dog visage, garbed in new navy blue, doffs 
his cap and howls : 

"La-deez an* gen-mn. Bat-trees for today's game 
will be Blup-Blup blup for Blup, Blup-blup; an' Blup 
for Blup. Play." 

The training season is over. 



CHAPTER XVI 

FINE POINTS OF THE GAME* 

Almost any spectator at a major league game will 
tell you : "Oh, I understand baseball," yet in every game 
hundreds of moves are made and orders issued and 
obeyed, each with exact purpose and scientific intent, 
that not one in a thousand of the onlookers sees or 
recognizes. The game has made such wonderful ad- 
vances scientifically and the generalship and team work 
has become so involved and complicated, that the lover 
of the game, even one who attends scores of games 
each season, rarely sees or understands its fine points 
or knows how, or why a play is made even after it is 
successfully completed. 

Every catcher and pitc'her in the big leagues knows 
to an inch how far each base runner may leave any 
base and get back safely. Every infielder knows just 
how certain men will make a play, and they turn their 
play accordingly. For instance, each man must know 
whether Mike Mitchell "pulls" a fast ball or not, and 
whether he hits a curve to right or to center. He 
must know how hard Fred Clarke will hit a left-hand- 
ers' curve, and a thousand other points of similar na- 
ture, of which the spectator never thinks. Besides 
knowing all those things the team must play, as a whole, 
so as to cover every inch of ground possible, and, by 



*Reprinted-from THE AMERICAN MAGAZINE and copyrighted by It. Additions 
and corrections by Evers. 

246 



FINE POINTS 247 



moving away and vacating parts of the field where a 
batter is unHkely to hit, they can defend the remainder 
with much greater success. A "rightfield hitter" — one 
who swings late at the ball, or pulls his body away 
from the plate, seldom is a good batter. He may hit 
the ball just as squarely and just as hard as a "free 
hitter," but the field into which he hits the ball is much 
better covered and the likelihood of the ball falling safe 
much lessened. 

Do you remember the now famous game between the 
New York and Chicago teams when the season ended 
with the teams tied, and they played off one game at 
the Polo Grounds to decide the championship of the 
National League? Who lost that game? It was 
*'Cy" Seymour, but perhaps not a dozen of the 30,000 
persons who witnessed the struggle know, he did. New 
York had the game won until the third inning in which 
Tinker was Chicago's first batter. During the entire 
season Tinker had been hitting Mathewson hard, and 
the psychologic effect of past performances has much 
to do with pitching and batting. Mathewson feared 
Tinker, and he signaled Seymour to play deep in center 
field. He was afraid that a long drive by Tinker might 
turn the tide of battle. Seymour saw the signal, but 
disregarded it, having an idea that Tinker would hit a 
low line fly, so he crept a few steps closer to the infield, 
instead of moving back. Matty dropped his famous 
"fade away" over the plate, and Tinker drove a long, 
high, line fly to left center. Seymour made a desper- 
ate effort to reach the ball, but fell a few feet short, and 



248 TOUCHING SECOND 

the ball rolled to the crowd in the outfield for a three- 
base hit, and started a rally that gave Chicago the 
victory. If Seymour had played a deep field, as he was 
commanded to do, the probabilities are that New York 
would have won the pennant. 

Each man in a major league must know not only 
the strength but the weakness of every opponent, and 
the array of facts and information concerning players 
that each pitcher can muster up is amazing to the lay- 
man. Late in 1908 Boston presented a new outfielder 
who never had played in a major league before, and no 
one on the Chicago club knew him or ever had seen him 
play ball, yet they were perfectly familiar with him, 
his peculiarities, batting habits, and disposition. On 
the way to the grounds Brown and Reulbach, one of 
whom was to pitch, went minutely over that new man, 
analyzing 'his position at bat, the way he swung at a 
ball, the kind of ball he could hit, and what he could 
not, and exactly how fast he could reach first base. 
Steinfeldt was warned that the man was dangerous and 
a tricky hunter, and that he always bunted toward third. 
When the pitchers got through discussmg the new- 
comer, Kling and Chance analyzed him as a base 
runner. 

"I think," Kling remarked, "we can catch that fel- 
low a couple of times if he gets on bases to-day. If 
he reaches second I'll pull off that delayed throw. Let 
Joe cover and Johnny stall." 

In the third inning of the game the unfortunate 
youngster reached second base on a hit and a sacrifice. 



FINE POINTS 



SECOND 
BIV5E 



249 



/ 



PITCHERS 

CD 

BOX 



«RST BASE 



Diagram showing ground between first and second bases cov- 
ered by Collins of the Athletics in the game of August 30, 1909- 
Only the ground which he covered in fielding balls or getting into 
plays is shown. 



»» )>»»»»nnn»)»))»>» 



, iii>« te«»e»t«i 



First inning 
Second inning 
Third inning 
Fourth inning 
Fifth inning 
Sixth inning 
Ninth inning 



No play in seventh or eighth Inning 



Estimated distances covered in 
plays 1240 ft. 

Returning to position 1 2 4 ft. 

Running and walking In bluff 

plays <000 ft. 

To and from bench nine times .. 3 6 ft. 



Total. 10,080 ft. 



250 TOUCHING SECOND 

On the first ball pitched to the next batter he raced up 
toward third. Kling motioned as if to throw, Tinker 
covered second base like a flash, and Evers stood still. 
The recruit at first made a jump toward second base, 
then seeing Kling had not thrown, he slowed down. 
Tinker, walking back past him, remarked : "We'd have 
caught you that time, old pal, if the Jew had thrown." 
For just one fatal trice the youngster turned his face to 
retort to Tinker's remark, and in that instant Kling 
threw. Evers met the ball at second base, jabbed it 
against the runner, and before he knew what had hap- 
pened he was out. That man really was caught in 
the 'bus on the way to the ball grounds, for the play 
was executed exactly as Kling planned. 

Quick thinking by individuals, as well as by the di- 
recting heads of the team, is absolutely necessary, and 
unless a player's brain acts quickly enough to follow 
every move he is not of major league caliber. Pro- 
fessor Munsterberg could save managers and club 
owners much time, trouble and money, as well as many 
disappointments, by testing the brain action of players 
psychologically and discovering their brain speed be- 
fore a season opens. Chance never has dabbled in psy- 
chological experimentation on a scientific basis, but he 
can discover how rapidly a ball player thinks more 
quickly in a poker game than in any other way and thus 
saves the expense of carrying some player for months 
only to have him lose a game because his convolutions 
fail to revolve fast enough. 

"Bad Bill" Egan was playing second base, "Bull" 



f 




W^SSfi^ " 



W\ 



Collins, Philadelphia Athletics, retrieving a wild throw 



FINE POINTS 251 



Dahlen third and "Cap" Anson first. Chicago and 
New York were fighting desperately for victory. The 
score was tied. A New York runner was on second 
base, one man was out and George Van Haltren at bat. 
Van Hahren hit a sharp ground ball five feet to the 
right of Egan. The ball struck his hands, he fumbled 
and the ball rolled five feet away. Like a flash Egan 
pounced after the ball, recovered it, and without stop- 
ping or looking, hurled it toward Dahlen. The third 
baseman, intent on making the runner "turn wide" 
looked up just in time to dodge as the sphere flashed by 
his head and bounded into the stands. One run scored. 
Van Haltren raced around to third, scored on a fly, 
and Chicago was beaten 4 to 3. 

"You're rotten," "Release him," "Get a second base- 
man," yelled the crowd. Within a week Anson re- 
leased Egan. 

That play shows 'how little the millions of fans who 
watch games know about baseball. Also it shows the 
relative speed with which the brain cells of the players 
involved worked. Egan thought too rapidly for Dah- 
len whose mind, intent on something else, moved an 
eighth of a second too late and Anson, by releasing 
Egan for making a brilliant play, showed that he never 
grasped the situation at all. 

The speed with which Egan's brain convolutions 
moved may be judged from the fact that a batted ball, 
hit towards a second baseman playing 135 feet from the 
plate reaches his hands in from four-fifths of a second 
to three seconds, depending upon the force with which 



252 TOUCHING SECOND 

it is hit and the way it bounds. The ball hit to Egan 
was hard hit, bounded four times on solid turf, and 
probably struck his hands one and one-fifth seconds 
after it left Van Haltren's bat. The entire play was 
made in less than three seconds, and this is the process 
through which Egan's brain went in that time. His 
first thought was direction; second, speed; third, how 
the ball was bounding and whether to "back up" or 
"come in on it." He knew Van Halt,ren could reach 
first base in three and two-fifth seconds, and that to 
throw there he would have to recover the ball, make a 
half turn and then throw. 

The moment the ball bounded away from his hands 
he knew Van Haltren could beat it to first base. Then, 
while springing after the ball he thought : "Clark, who 
is going to third, will turn ten feet around the base, 
hesitate and look to see whether the ball has rolled on 
to the outfield and, if I can get the ball to Dahlen while 
Clark is hesitating, we will catch him." So ne made 
the play, and if Dahlen's brain had worked at the same 
rate of speed Clark would have been out — and Chicago 
would have won. 

Some of the quickest thiuKing on a baseball field was 
done by Tommy McCarthy, the Boston outfielder of 
years ago. He made a play that called for such rapid 
thinking that he would have tangled up Professor Mun- 
sterberg's instruments. Tom Browne, one of the 
speediest ruimers that ever played baseball, was on sec- 
ond base and New York needed one run to tie the score. 
Jack Doyle, then a great batter, was at bat, and it 



FINEPOINTS 253 

seemed certain that a base hit by Doyle would tie the 
score and perhaps win the game, as there was only one 
otit and Browne was so speedy he could score from 
second base on almost any kind of a safe hit. Mc- 
Carthy crept closer to the infield in left, realizing that 
although 'he could throw with wonderful rapidity and 
accuracy, the chances were all against throwing Browne 
out at the plate unless he was close and the ball came 
to him quickly. Doyle drove a hard line hit straight 
to left field, Browne went scudding toward third base, 
Doyle raced for first and McCarthy plunged forward 
at top speed. The ^fielder reached the ball on its first 
bound, grabbed it and without stopping or looking 
threw with terrific force and perfect aim across the 
diamond into the first baseman's hands. Browne had 
stopped at third base, Doyle, who had turned first with 
the intention of sprinting to second, was caught stand- 
ing still ten feet from first. The next batter went out 
on a fly ball and Boston won the game. 

After the game McCarthy was asked concerning the 
play. "Well," he explained, "Browne is a quick 
thinker. He saw how hard that ball was hit and knew 
he would be thrown out at the plate unless I fumbled. 
Doyle doesn't think fast and, knowing that he would 
turn first and stop to see if I was throwing home, I 
threw across to first and caught him." 

He figured that out while the ball was screaming 
through the air toward him, probably reaching his con- 
clusions and making the decisions in four-fifths of a 
second. 



254 TOUCHING SECOND 

But the victories that are won and lost by fast in- 
dividual thinking are few compared with those won 
and lost by the managers who direct the plays. Man- 
agers spend hours figuring plays, situations, and cal- 
culating days and even weeks ahead on their pitchers, 
using those they deem effective in one series, saving up 
others for coming battles, and planning new tricks and 
new plays. Before each game the manager and his 
players, especially his pitchers, go over the character- 
istics of the players of the opposing teams. Of course, 
with veteran teams and with pitchers who have been 
through many hard campaigns, this is unnecessary. 

The study of pitchers — his own as well as those of 
the other fellow — is the chief duty of a manager. He 
must know their condition, their superstitions, their 
courage, nerve in the face of trying circumstances, what 
batters they "'have on their string" and what one "has 
something on them." He must change batting orders 
to meet emergencies, drag a left-handed hitter out to 
let a right-hander bat against one pitcher, and a right 
hander out to put a left hander in against another. 

During the progress of a game the manager, both 
on the field and the bench, directs all plays, moves his t 
men around, instructs each batter what he is to attempt, 
signals to coachers on what ball or strike a base run- 
ner is to attempt a steal or "hit and run," and fre- 
quently he issues three or four orders from the bench to 
one batter, trying to "outguess the other fellow." 

Each man on a team has his private signals with the 
batters who precede or follow him, and the batter, re- 



FINE POINTS 255 

ceiving orders from the manager, signals the base run- 
ner exactly what to do. In 1908, while the Chicago 
team was badly crippled and changing batting order 
almost every day, Sheckard reached first one afternoon 
and Chance was following him. As Chance came to 
bat he was swinging two bats, and he tossed one back 
of him with his left hand. On the first ball pitched 
Sheckard attempted a steal and was thrown out. 
"What did you go down for?" demanded Chance 
later. "I thought I got the signal," said Sheckard. 
"I didn't give any signal." **Well, you tossed that bat 
away with your left hand, and you usually throw it 
with your right, so I thought you'd made a new signal 
while I was out of the game." 

Sheckard's blunder shows how closely e\ery move- 
ment of a batter is watched, not only by his fellow 
players but by his opponents. In one game in 1909 
Evers and Kling analyzed and discovered every hit and 
run signal used by the Cincinnati club merely by their 
powers of observation. Ganzel, then manager of the 
club, signaled entirely by words, and by close atten- 
tion and listening for every unnatural phrase or ex- 
pression the Cubs secured the entire code used by their 
opponents, and knew as well as the Cincinnati players 
what Ganzel was ordering. 

But the science of signaling is but part of the general- 
ship of the game, for a dozen times in each struggle, 
if it is close, the manager must decide points, and his 
decision each time may result in victory or defeat. 
Taking men out of the game, knowing when to do it 



256 TOUCHING SECOND 

and when not, is the hardest task. Fielder Jones, 
manager of the Chicago White Stockings, and one of 
the best field generals in the world in his last season 
in baseball used more pitchers and changed players 
more frequently than any other manager. In one 
game he changed pitchers five times and won. With 
the team badly crippled, and only one pitcher to rely 
upon, Jones, by using that pitcher (Walsh) in every 
emergency, came within one game of winning the pen- 
nant. Three times in the late season he summoned 
Walsh to pitch just one ball, and two of the games he 
saved. McCloskey, then managing St. Louis, in a 
game against New York took out a pitcher with two 
strikes on a batter, sent Raymond to pitch one ball, a 
spit ball, struck the batter out, and then sent Karger in 
to finish the game — and won it. 

Generalship by the manager is not all. A good team 
needs the fewest orders and what perhaps was the most 
brilliant half inning ever played in a ball game, from 
the standpoint of headwork, and perfect execution was 
one in which the managers had small part. That was 
the last half of the fourth inning of the game between 
Detroit and Chicago on October 13, 1908. Chicago 
had made two runs in the third inning and with Brown 
pitching, appeared to be winning easily until O'Leary 
and Crawford opened the fourth inning with line 
singles to left, putting runners on first and second, no 
one out, and Cobb, the best batter in the American 
league, at bat. 

O'Leary is fast, Cobb is extremely fast and Cobb is 



:pine points ^57 

a natural bunter. Everyone knew Cobb intended to 
bunt, and that failure to retire him or one of the other 
runners probably meant victory for Detroit. Jennings 
sent Cobb to bat with instructions to bunt toward third 
base. They knew Brown intended to make the play to 
third base to force O'Leary, and O'Leary was signaled 
to take as much lead as possible and start running when 
the ball was pitched. Brown, past master in field 
generalship as well as execution walked over to Stein- 
feldt at third base and said : "Anchor yourself to that 
bag. The ball is coming here." Kling signaled for a 
fast ball close in at the waist. It was his plan to have 
Cobb miss the ball on his first attempt to bunt and then 
by a quick throw to Tinker on second, to catch O'Leary 
off the base. Brown shook his head and signaled Kling 
his intention to pitch a curve ball low and on the out- 
side corner of the plate. Cobb was hoping that Brown 
would pitch precisely that kind of a ball, and Brown 
knew that Cobb was hoping for it, and It was Brown's 
plan to force Cobb to do exactly what he was most 
anxious to do — to make a perfect bunt and toward third 
base. Brown pitched perfectly, and Cobb bunted per- 
fectly, thirty feet toward third base and about five feet 
inside the foul line. As Brown pitched he went for- 
ward at top speed, "following the ball through," and he 
was in front of the ball when it bounded along. Still 
running he scooped the sphere, and whirling made a 
terrific throw straight to Steinfeldt and O'Leary was 
forced out by fifteen feet on a seemingly impossible 



258 TOUCHING SECOND 

play, executed chiefly because Brown knew exactly what 
Cobb would do. 

Chance's magnificent machine was not through. 
Knowing that the failure of that play would "rattle" 
the Tigers they instantly seized the psychological situ- 
ation. Kling gave a quick signal for a fast inshoot 
across Rossman's shoulders, and Brown, without wait- 
ing for Detroit to rally and plan a play, drove the ball 
fast and high. Rossman struck at the ball and missed 
it. Like a flash Kling hurled the sphere toward second 
base. Tinker met it at top speed, touched Crawford three 
feet from the base and standing still, and Detroit was 
beaten and in panic. An instant later as Rossman 
struck out, Kling threw to second, and Evers, leaping, 
stuck up one hand, dragged down the ball, and while 
descending touched Cobb as he slid. The big crowd, 
frenzied over the brilliant series of plays, and only half 
understanding them, cheered for five minutes. 

A few years ago a play suggested by a reporter came 
near beating the Chicago White Stockings out of the 
American League pennant. "Dutch" Schaefer with 
several other players and the reporter, were forgathered 
one evening in Chicago "talking shop" as usual, and 
the scribe was lamenting the lack of inventiveness 
and ingenuity in the later generations of ball players. 
"Why," he said to clinch the argument, "to-day three 
of you fellows let Altrock sneak strikes over on you. 
After he had xione it once why didn't a batter walk up 
to the plate, pretend not to be watching, and when he 
tried that quick straight ball slam it out of the lot?" 



PINE POINTS 259 

At that time Chicago was fighting desperately for the 
pennant and every game counted. It looked as if one 
defeat would mean the loss of the championship. The 
next afternoon, in the ninth inning, with the score i to 
o in favor of Chicago, Schaefer, who had been crip- 
pled, was sent to bat. As he came slouching up to the 
plate, carrying his bat in his left hand and pretending 
not to be watching the pitcher at all, the reporter hastily 
regretted the argument of the previous evening. 
Schaefer actually turned his head away, and **Doc" 
White, thinking he saw an opening, drove a fast 
straight ball over the plate. Schaefer waked up, mauled 
that ball clear into the left field bleachers, drove home a 
runner ahead of him and beat Chicago 2 to i. The 
newspaper man didn't dare tell Comiskey about that 
argument until the pennant was won. 

Each winter the "magnates" meet and solemnly make 
rules for baseball, amend old ones, and all summer 
every ball player in the business spends hours of time 
and thought to see how he can beat the rules, to discover 
some way to gain an extra base, or some slight advan- 
tage over their opponents. Showing how deeply some 
of them study the rules, and 'how to get around them, 
is a play devised by Evers. 

There is a rule that a base runner may advance on 
the bases after a fly catch provided he touches the base 
after the ball strikes the fielder's hands. Another rule 
provides that an "infield fly" is out, whether or not the 
ball is caught, if first and second bases are occupied and 
fewer than two men out. This rule was made neces- 



260 TOUCHING SECOND 

sary by fielders "trapping" fly balls and then doubling 
base runners because they were compelled to hold their 
bases until they saw whether or not the fielder caught 
the ball. Whether or not a batted ball is an infield fly 
is left to the judgment of the umpire and the rules 
order that the umpire must call "Infield Fly" while the 
ball is in the air in order to protect the base runners. 

Evers reasoned that, as a base runner may run on a 
fair catch, he may also run as soon as the umpire calls 
"Infield Fly," because, technically, the ball is caught the 
instant the umpire calls. So he waited his opportunity 
which came with him on second, another runner on 
first and Chicago leading by such a large margin that 
losing the decision would not hurt. O'Day was um- 
piring and when the batter drove a high fly into the air 
Evers waited at second, with one foot on the base. The 
ball was sixty feet in the air when O'Day called "In- 
field fly, batter out." At that instant Evers dashed for 
third base and reached it in safety before the ball 
dropped into the fielder's hands and could be relayed. 
O'Day, unlike civil judges, refuses to be hampered by 
legal technicalities, and called Evers out, although 
technically he was entitled to the base. 

Fielder Jones once deliberately tested a rule in De- 
troit and stirred up one of the biggest discussions base- 
ball has had in many years. With a runner on third 
Jones ordered him to steal home as the pitcher was in 
the act of delivering the ball. The pitcher hesitated, 
changed his pitcning motion, and threw the ball to the 
catcher who ran in front of the batter, caught the ball 



FINE POINTS 261 

and touched the runner. The umpire called the runner 
out. Then Jones raised this point: Was not the run- 
ner safe because the catcher interfered with the bat- 
ter by running in front of him, thereby preventing him 
from hitting the ball? The umpire ruled that he was 
not out, as the ball was thrown to the plate and not 
pitched, therefore the batter had no right to hit it. 
Jones yielded the point and then argued : Did not the 
pitcher make a balk, if as the umpire had ruled, he 
changed his motion and threw to the plate instead of 
pitching The , umpire was cornered and refused to 
discuss the case further, beyond ruling the runner out. 

The case stirred up a long discussion. The presi- 
dents of the two major leagues ruled in different ways, 
and the umpires received conflicting orders. Four- 
fifths of the umpires admit, after studying the play, that 
Jones was right and that the runner was safe, either 
on the grounds of, interference or because the pitcher 
balked. But they decided to call all runners out in such 
cases, because, they argue, if they did not, every run- 
ner who reached third base could steal home. 

If you watch a baseball game this season watch and 
listen. Behind the "E-Yah" of Jennings and the way 
he kicks up one foot, or plucks a blade of grass, you 
may catch his signal to the batter or runner. Back of 
the war cries of Chance : "At-a-boy," and "Now, you're 
pitching," may be hidden a whole command to his team. 
When "Matty" shakes his head one way he means "No," 
and when he shakes it just a little differently he means 



262 TOUCHING SECOND 

"Yes," and is making the batter believe his "Yes" is 
"No." 

So, if you sit real still, and watch the game closely 
every second, and see every move, and study its mean- 
ing, you v^ill enjoy the game lots more. But you won't 
watch. The very first time Speaker bangs a two bag- 
ger down that rig'ht field line you'll stand up on your 
seat and yell the top of your head off. 



CHAPTER XVII 

ONTHEBENCH* 

Runners were on first and third bases. The game 
was close, and one score for either team meant prob- 
able victory. At the plate a batter, tense and alert 
churned the inoffensive air with short nervous motions 
of his bat. Out on the whitewashed lines by first and 
third bases two coachers ranted and raved, pawed the 
dirt, ran up and down howling encouragement to the 
batter and words of caution to the runners. Stretched 
sprawlingly along the bench a row of white-garbed 
athletes watched the field before them, holding their 
poses as if frozen into position. Above and on both 
sides of them the noise waves of the great crowd broke 
deafeningly as the rooter's chorus sang the song of hope 
of another pennant which might be decided in the next 
minute. 

Suddenly, at the end of the tense line of athletes on 
the bendh there was a movement. A player with earn- 
est, but rather weary face, immobile even in the moment 
When the whole result of his year's work might be 
ruined, raised his right hand to his cap, lifted it an inch 
from his head, replaced it and without a muscle of his 
face twitching sat watching. 

Like a flash the coacher at third base sprang down 
the line. *Took out, Steiny," he screamed. "Look 



•Reprinted from THE AMERICAN MAGAZINE and copyrighted by it. Additions 
and corrections by Evers. 

263 



264 TOUCHING SECOND 

out, Frank," came the echo from the first base coach- 
er's box. 

The pitcher wound himself into fanstastic contor- 
tions. From somewhere out of the tangle of revolving 
limbs a ball shot like a flash to the plate, into the catch- 
er's mitt. As the pitcher started to wind up, the run- 
ner at first base leaped twenty feet towards second, 
stopped, 'hesitated, and took a step back towards first 
base. The catcher, who had caught the ball in perfect 
position, leaped forward, right arm drawn back, watch- 
ful, alert, in perfect position to throw to second base. 
The crowd groaned. Another strike on the batter ; the 
effort to steal balked. Slowly the catcher relaxed from 
his tense poise. His arm dropped and he started to 
throw the ball easily back to the pitcher. In that in- 
stant the runner at first base was galvanized into action. 
Two tremendous leaps toward second, and he was fly- 
ing at full speed down the line. ^ The catcher hesitat- 
ing a trice, tightened again into throwing position, 
and threw like a rifle shot to second just as he caught a 
glimpse of a figure tearing homeward from third. An 
instant later, in a whirling cloud of dust, a runner 
pivoted around the plate, his foot dragging across the 
rubber just as the ball, hastily hurled back to the 
catcher, came down upon his leg. The umpire's hands 
went down. The run had scored. The game was won. 
The crowd in a tumult of enthusiasm roared and 
screamed and shrilled its joy. The man at the end of 
the bench let a shadow of a smile flit over his face, and 



ONTHEBENCH 265 

watched more intently than ever. The crowd had for- 
gotten him, and was cheering the others. 

Let us see what really happened, for the play de- 
scribed is the one by which Frank Chance saved the 
championship of 1908 by beating New York one game 
on the West Side grounds. The crowd saw everything 
— that is, everything it could see. What it did not 
see was this: — Tinker was batting, Steinfeldt was on 
first base, Schulte on third. The orders were for a hit 
and run play when Tinker went to bat. After one 
strike had been called Chance raised his hand, lifted his 
cap from his head and quickly replaced it ; the signal for 
his men to attempt a delayed double steal. Marshall, 
coaching at third cried : *'Look out, Steiny," and Evers, 
coaching at first, "Look out, Frank." No one noticed 
in the jumble of their yells, that they used the names 
of the base runners for the first time. The use of the 
name of a runner was the signal for the delayed double 
steal. All that happened afterwards was only mechan- 
ical, and although Schulte scored, and Steinfeldt 
reached second and Tinker helped them by his motions 
as he struck at the ball, intentionally missing it, they 
were but puppets carrying out the orders of the general. 
Chance had won the game from the bench when he 
lifted his cap from his head. 

When Chicago and Detroit met for the champion- 
ship of the world that same fall. Chance planned and 
won one of the most beautiful strategic struggles ever 
fought and the campaign that he planned and that his 
men carried out was worthy a baseball Napoleon. The 



266 TOUCHING SECOND 

game was the second one of the series and was played 
in Chicago before a huge Sunday crowd. Both teams 
reaHzed that the game meant almost everything; to 
Detroit an even chance for the title, to the Cubs almost 
certainty of retaining their honors. Before the game 
meetings of both teams were held. Chance planned his 
campaign depending entirely upon which pitcher De- 
troit used, and his orders, issued the moment "Wild 
Bill" Donovan was selected, were conveyed to his men 
in one word : "Wait." They waited — waited — waited, 
while the huge crowd went wild as inning after inning 
reeled away and neither side was able to score a run. 
Donovan in that game had perhaps as much speed as 
any 'human being ever possessed. His fast ball jumped 
and darted and his curve, pitched with tremendous 
power and speed, broke almost at right angles. 

Inning after inning as Chance sent his men to face 
that human gatling gun which was firing the National 
cannon ball at and around them, he monotonously com- 
manded : "Wait," and they went up — and waited. One 
strike, one ball, two strikes, a foul, two balls, foul, 
foul, sometimes three strikes, sometimes a weak fly 
that netted nothing. To the crowd it seemed as if 
Donovan never could be ^eaten, as the Champions ap- 
peared helpless before his tremendous speed. Still 
Chance commanded: "Wait — wait him out." Every 
batter went to the plate intent upon making Donovan 
pitch as many balls as possible. They fouled, they 
waited, sometimes even let him strike them out, some- 
times they hit, but never until they were compelled to 



ONTHEBENCH 267 

do so. When the eighth inning came neither had 
scored. Hofman led off that inning and still his orders 
were to wait, and he waited until he could wait no 
longer, then rolled a safe scratch hit down towards 
third. In that moment Chance, commanding general, 
ordered the charge. Tinker was the next batter and 
the order for the assault was the single word : "Switch." 
That was all, but Tinker, rushing eagerly forward to 
the batter's position, knew that the leash that had held 
the champions had been cut and that he could hit when 
he pleased, even the first ball. Crash, Tinker smoke 
the sphere a terrific blow and like a swallow the ball 
darted out to right field, high, higher, until, soaring far 
over the heads of the crowd it struck the sign above the 
right field seats and the crowd went wild. Then, like 
soldiers attacking a breached wall, the champions 
rushed to the assault and, before the inning was over, 
they had made six runs and their waiting game had 
won. 

Chance had calculated from the first that Donovan 
was pitching with too great speed, and that no human 
being could hold such a pace through nine innings, and 
during all the time that the crowd thought Detroit 
would win, the leader of the champions was sitting 
watching every move, waiting for the first sign that 
Donovan was tiring or beginning to lose his speed. At 
the start of the seventh inning he thought he detected 
signs of weariness, but the Smiling Tiger still was 
strong. After Hofman scratched that hit at the start 
of the eighth, Chance saw Donovan lower his pitching 



268 TOUCHING SECOND 

arm as if weary, and he issued his order— and after 
Tinker drove that home run he ordered, "Take a crack 
at the first one." Like a general, he had found the 
breach and ordered the charge, and his men leaped to 
the plate and began the bombardment that brought 
victory. 

i It is seldom that spectators at any game get a 
glimpse of the brain work behind the movements of the 
players and even to hardened "fans" the game looks 
haphazard. They criticize because they do not under- 
stand. They see only the individual, what he does, 
where the ball is hit, or caught, or thrown, and the 
intent and purpose of it all is lost, without thinking 
how much thought may have been wasted on the play 
that the individual attempted to carry out, or how well 
planned the game may have been. They imagine, most 
of them, that the players are individuals who walk to 
the plate, hit or miss the ball, make a safe hit or go out ; 
they do not know that behind the way the man hits, 
behind the movements of the base runner, behind the 
position the men take, are hidden a code of signals, and 
a series of orders to be obeyed without question, for 
the general good. They scarcely imagine that games 
are planned before they are started, or that as soon 
as a pitcher is named the manager and his advisers 
map out a scheme of action and plan an attack upon 
the weakest point of the opposing team. 

They do not realize that as soon as Marquard, of 
New York, or Pfiester of Chicago, is named to pitch, 
the opposing manager orders a bunting game, or that 



ONTHEBENCH 269 

as soon as a catcher known to have a weak arm, or to 
throw badly, or a pitcher who does not watch base run- 
ners carefully is elected to perform battery duty for the 
day the opposing manager signals "steal," "steal," 
"steal," to every fast man who reaches a base. 

Listen to a coacher, "Doc" Marshall, of Brooklyn, 
for instance, on the line at first base, running up and 
down, pawing the dirt, acting like a madman, and per- 
haps one not deeply versed in the game imagines he is 
trying to "rattle" the opposing pitcher, or spur his own 
men to greater efforts. A hundred of the words or 
phrases he uses may mean nothing, but somewhere 
among them the base runner hears, "Careful, Harry," 
which tells him Marshall has seen a signal for a fast 
ball, flashed the batter a signal to hit and is warning 
the runner to start as soon as the ball is pitched. Or 
he may catch, "Now we're at 'em," and leap forward 
to save himself from being forced when the batter 
bunts a sacrifice. 

Sometimes, however, the best laid and most care- 
fully planned campaigns go sadly amiss and one of the 
instances of this was the miscarriage of a plan Chance 
once laid to beat St. Louis. Sallee, "The String 
Bean," a tall rangy pitcher who is about nineteen hands 
high and left-handed, was pitching a strange game. Re- 
gardless of who was batting he pitched the same way 
to each man, a curve over the plate, another curve 
either on the inside or outside corner, two fast side 
arm balls high and outside, and then a curve low and 



270 TOUCHING SECOND 

over the plate. His pitching, although monotonous, 
was effective, and for an odd reason. 

Chance had a theory that Sallee lacked control, in 
spite of the fact that he was showing almost perfect 
control, so he counseled a waiting game and told his 
men to "take two," which means they were not to 
strike at either of the first two balls pitched. As a 
consequence Sallee had the batter "in the hole," all the 
time — that is, had the advantage, and when they finally 
were compelled to hit, they were forced to hit hi^ 
curve so they did not do much hitting. 

By the middle of the game Chance realized Sallee 
was not going to be wild, — and rig'ht there the game 
ceased to be baseball and became a guessing match. 
Chance, seeing Bresnahan's plan of pitching, expected 
him to change it, so he stuck to his original plan. Bres- 
nahan knowing Chance expected him to change, de- 
cided not to change, and waited for Chance to switch 
'his plan of campaign. The game was almost over 
before the Champions, made desperate, began hitting 
the first ball, and then Bresnahan changed on every 
batter, outguessing them all the time. 

It was just like men matching heads and tails, each 
manager sticking to his own plan, Bresnahan turning 
heads every time and Chance tails, each expecting 
the other to change. 

The man who, perhaps, is past master of directing 
ball clubs from the bench is John McCloskey, who has 
managed many clubs. As many of his campaigns have 
been poorly executed by inferior players, he often has 



ONTHEBENCH 271 

failed, but if ever he gets a team together that can 
and will carry out his orders, that team probably never 
will lose a game. 

One of McCloskey's most brilliant plans was con- 
ceived when he was managing the St. Louis Cardinals. 
He had an idea his team could beat Reulbach, of Chi- 
cago, by bunting and he sent the first seventeen men 
to bat with orders to bunt or push the ball down the 
infield, no batter being allowed to hit the ball hard 
until after two strikes had been called. The first six 
innings passed without a run being scored by St. Louis. 
Then two bunts went safe in succession, another ad- 
vanced the runners and the next man pushed the ball 
towards first base. It was thrown w^ild to the plate, 
two runners scored, and St. Louis continued bunting 
until five runs counted and the game was won. All 
during the early stages of the contest the players were 
frantic, begging to be permitted to hit hard but Mc- 
Closkey stuck to his plan of campaign and won. 

On the attack, when his own team is at bat, the 
manager has the opportunity to speak to each man as 
he leaves the bench, to tell him what he is expected to 
do, but if he changes that plan after the man is in bat- 
ting position he signals either the batter direct, or the 
coacher his change of plan, so that every man on the 
team may know what is to be attempted. With expe- 
rienced men few signals are necessary, except those 
of the manager, who must decide which of two possible 
plays the batter shall try. 

After a team has played under one manager several 



272 TOtJCMlNG SECOND 



years, the players know, almost without a glance to- 
ward the bench, what the orders will be under given 
circumstances. Often, too, when a manager and batter 
suspect that the opposing team has learned their sig- 
nals, the batter will look towards the bench, even when 
he knows perfectly what is expected of him, and re- 
ceive a false order intended to "cross'* or deceive the 
trickster who is stealing signals. It is when the bat- 
ter "crosses" the opposing team, leading them to think 
he is going to do one thing when he does another, that 
disastrous consequences are likely to result to the de- 
fenders. 

In a game between Pittsburg and Philadelphia years 
ago, when Tommy Leach was a youngster, he thought 
he detected a signal for Larry Lajoie to bunt and he 
came creeping forward expecting to get a good start 
on the bunt if it came towards third. Lajoie slashed 
a line drive down the third base line, the ball struck 
Leach on the shins, and his head was the first thing 
that hit the ground. 

The lengths to whicfh clubs will go to learn the sig- 
nals, especially the signals of managers from the bench, 
is astonishing to those not familiar with the game. To 
catch a signal legitimately, by observation, quickness 
of eye or quickness of thinking is part of the sport, 
Marshall of Brooklyn, Kan^ of Chicago, Dooin of 
Philadelphia, Bridwell of New York, Hartsel of the 
Athletics, of the present generation of players, are 
past masters of the art of seeing what the opposing 
batsmen are trying to do before the effort is made. In 



ONTHEBENCH 273 

one game at Cincinnati in 1909 Manager Griffith said 
he was compelled to change his signals six times dur- 
ing the contest because Pat Moran was getting them. 

Efforts have been made in the past to steal the sig- 
nals by the most brazen trickery and unsportsmanlike 
methods. Perhaps the worst case of this kind ever re- 
vealed was that of the old Philadelphia team in the 
National League. Here was the greatest aggregation 
of batters ever assembled on one team, but, not satis- 
fied with their natural batting ability, they wanted to 
know in advance what kind of a ball the pitcher was 
going to serve in order to increase their hitting. Mor- 
gan Murphy, one of the cleverest men at interpreting 
signals who ever played in a ball game, formulated the 
plan. Stationing himself with a confederate in the 
club house in center field, he armed himself with a pair 
of powerful field glasses with which he watched the 
signals of the catchers as well as the signals of the 
managers from the bench. It was afterwards learned 
that he frequently watched the pitcher, catcher and 
manager making up their signals before a game and 
frequently knew before play started every signal that 
was to be used. 

At first the signals were given by the confederate, 
who stood in a club house window, and passed the sig- 
nals by the positions of his arms against the sides of 
the window. One arm was for fast balls, the other 
for curves, and the code included many positions of 
the man. The opponents, knowing their signals were 
being "tipped off," grew suspicious and Murphy, learn- 



274 



TOUCHING SECOND 



ing of their suspicions and fearing detection, changed 
his plan and gave the signals by raising or lowering an 
awning on the club house. If the awning was raised 
a few inches and held there, a fast ball was to be 
pitched and if it was raised and dropped quickly a 
curve had been signaled for. Not content with the 
success at home the club took Murphy on the road, 
and he worked from windows overlooking the park, 
often hiring rooms in order to carry on the unsports- 
manlike practice. 

It is remarkable how quickly* a catcher suspects the 
opposing team is getting his signals, or those that are 
being given from the bench. He judges chiefly from 
the unnatural actions of the batters. After even two 
men have batted the catcher begins to look in all direc- 
tions to see who is "tipping off" the signs, and he im- 
mediately signals the bench what is going on. Then 
all eyes on the bench scan the field, fences and adja- 
cent buildings to discover what scheme is being worked. 

Murphy's awning worked well, until it was discov- 
ered by sharp eyes on the bench and then Murphy and 
his associates invented something entirely new in base- 
ball. They put electric wires underground, connecting 
the club house with the coacher's box at third base 
and buried in the ground a small wooden box contain- 
ing a "buzzer." A certain noisy, obstreperous player 
was stationed at third base with one foot directly over 
the box containing the "buzzer" and as the signal 
sounded he could feel the tapping under his foot, 
whereupon he called a code word warning the batter 



ONTHEBENCH 275 

what the pitcher was going to pitch or what the oppos- 
ing manager had ordered from the bench. 

Not a regular player on the Philadelphia team bat- 
ted under 300 per cent, while the "buzzer" was in op- 
eration, and several of their pitchers and catchers were 
among the leading batters of the National League. 
Opposing teams knew that, in some way, the Philadel- 
phians were getting the signals, but how they could 
not discover until one day the Cincinnati club was 
playing on the Philadelphia grounds. Every man 
on the Cincinnati team was watching to see where the 
signals were coming from and they saw that one player 
stationed near third base no matter how he moved, al- 
ways kept one foot in the same position. 

In the middle of the game, one of the Cincinnati 
team wandering apparently aimlessly toward third 
base, made a sudden rush, pushed the guilty Philadel- 
phian out of the coachers' box and dug up the device 
which was winning games for Philadelphia. The dis- 
covery created a big sensation in baseball and aroused 
a vigorous protest against such unsportsmanlike meth- 
ods. But instead of stopping, the Philadelphia club 
moved the buzzer to their bench, and continued using 
it until stopped by league action. 

Not satisfied with having that much advantage on 
the home grounds, the man who planned the thing 
followed his team around the country, renting win- 
dows overlooking the grounds in each city and wig- 
wagging signals to the batters. He was caught at 
Brooklyn by some of the Brooklyn players, and 



276 TOUC HING SECOND 

trounced, and after that the method of spying grad- 
ually was abandoned. 

Pittsburg, however, tried the same thing a year 
later, using an ingenious device ; a semiphore arrange- 
ment fastened to the center field fence which was raised 
at right angles for a fast ball and straight up for a 
curve. The arrangement was not in use for a week 
before the keen eyes of the opponents discovered it 
and began changing signals so rapidly the spies could 
not follow them. After seventeen batters had been hit 
by pitched balls in four days and some of them hurt 
because they expected one curve when another was 
being pitched the scheme was abandoned. 

The defensive game of all teams is ordered by the 
manager either from the bench or from his field posi- 
tion and the manager who also is a player has an im- 
mense advantage over the bench manager in that he 
can reach his men more readily and moreover without 
a signal, sign, ar spoken word his players can tell from 
the position he assumes where he wants them to play 
and how he expects the play to be made. 

Observe the New York ball team. McGraw from 
the bench flashes a signal to Tenney. Devlin creeps 
forward fifteen feet inside of third base, Tenney moves 
forward almost twenty-five feet, the entire outfield ad- 
vances while Doyle and B rid well remain as they were. 
There is a man on first base, another on third, one 
batter out and New York has one run more than the 
opposing team. Any one who knows the game knows 
the batter is not a fast man and understands the entire 



ONTHEBENCH 277 

plan of action. If the ball is hit to Tenney, to Devlin 
or to the pitcher, it will be thrown to the plate to pre- 
vent the runner from scoring from third base. If it is 
hit either to Doyle or to Bridwell, the other will cover 
second base, take the throw and attempt by a quick 
throw to complete the double play and retire the op- 
posing team. 

The batter makes a base hit, the runner scores from 
third, the man who was on first reaches third, and 
gain runners are on first and third bases, with one out, 
and the opposing team needs a run to win. But the 
infield instead of playing the same way gets a signal 
from McGraw and while Tenney and Devlin remain 
as before, Doyle and Bridwell move forward onto the 
grass, twenty-five feet nearer the plate than they were 
before. The fan may not understand, but a fast man 
is coming to bat ; there is but a slight chance of a dou- 
ble play being executed successfully and the Giants 
driven to the defensive, are signaled by their manager 
to close up the inner line of defense in the desperate 
hope that the ball will be hit straight at one of theni 
who may cut of¥ the runner at the plate and save the 
day. McGraw has issued the order, and whether it 
wins or loses the game he accepts the blame. 

There was a game played in Cincinnati in 1909 
which Chicago came near losing after having saved it 
three times by magnificent generalship. McLean, the 
heavy hitting Cincinnati catcher, is one of the most 
dangerous of batters when his team needs runs, and 
four times during the game he came to bat when a 



278 TOUCHING SECOND 

safe hit, it seemed, would win the game for Cincinnati, 
and each time Chance, on the bench, raised his hand 
with four fingers up and the thumb turned in, which 
was his signal to give McLean a base on balls and not 
allow him to hit and to rely upon retiring the next bat- 
ter, who was not so dangerous as a batter. Three 
times Reulbach purposely pitched four balls wide, al- 
lowing McLean to take first base and each time the suc- 
ceeding batter failed to hit, so Cincinnati could not 
score. The other time Chance shoved up four fingers 
just as one of the umpires passed between him and the 
field, and Reulbach missed the signal and thinking 
Chance had not signaled at all he broke a curve over 
the plate for a strike. Again Chance flashed four fin- 
gers and again the umpire obscured the view, and 
Reulbach drove over another strike. 

Moran, who was catching, was angry. He thought 
the proper thing to do was to give McLean a base, and 
he turned to Chance for orders to pass the batter even 
then, but having escaped twice Chance had a "hunch" 
that he had been wrong, and signaled to make the bat- 
ter hit. Reulbach pitched a high fast ball and McLean 
hit it safe to center, scoring a run and tying the score, 
and the Cubs were compelled to play eleven innings 
before they finally won the game. 

Many spectators who see players go through season 
after season and play perhaps 175 games a year im- 
agine that they would get hardened and become indif- 
ferent as to whether they win or lose. The opposite 
is the case. The young players endure defeat better 



ONTHEBENCH 279 

than the old ones and it seems the longer the player 
is in the game the more he hates to lose. 

The bench, during a defeat, is like an army in a 
rout, everyone raving, swearing, blaming each other, 
and hurling abuse and invective back and forth. But 
while the result hangs in the balance the men seem im- 
passive, almost indifferent. Conversations are carried 
on in low tones, orders are issued quickly and inci- 
sively, and everything is deliberate and calm. The 
storm that follows either victory or defeat comes as 
quickly as the hit or the error that starts it. The mo- 
ment that the hit that brings victory, or the error that 
means defeat comes, all the pent up and repressed ex- 
citement of the day breaks loose and then the wildest 
fan in the bleachers is sane compared with the players 
— and usually the manager is worst of all. 

But the bench is not always calm or angry, for at 
times it is like a crowd of school-boys, up to all sorts 
of pranks, from nagging the umpire to playing jokes 
on each other. One of the funniest situations arose in 
Cincinnati a few years ago when the Reds were being 
beaten. One of the players was an inveterate joker, 
and even in defeat he could not withstand the tempta- 
tion to turn the laugh upon some one. There was a 
water pipe from the stand that divided directly over 
the players' bench, one end being at the side of the 
bench, the other directly over the water tank where 
the players drank. The joker had discovered that the 
pipe could be used as a telephone and while his team 
was going to pieces he sat where he could lean over 



280 TOUCHING SECOND 

and speak into the open end of the pipe. Lobert had 
made a couple of bad misplays and as he went to the 
water tank to get a drink after the disastrous inning 
the joker leaned over and spoke into the pipe, saying: 
"You big, bowlegged, Dutch slob, who ever told you 
you could play ball?" The words seemed to come 
directly from over Lobert's head and he dropped the 
drinking-cup and leaped back, glaring up into the 
stand to see who was "roasting" him. The party in 
the box overhead looked supremely innocent and un- 
conscious, but Lobert remained in front of the bench 
all during the inning, to see if he could discover the 
offender. 

The joker remained quiet until the next player went 
to the tank, and then he hurled more insults through 
the tube. He kept it up during the entire game, abus- 
ing, criticizing and insulting every player who went 
to get a drink, and by the middle of the contest he had 
the players fighting mad, and sending spies into the 
stand to try to find the man who was abusing them. 

So the most interesting part of the game ; the brain 
work, the generalship of baseball is hidden under those 
coops behind first and third base where the masters of 
baseball use fingers, eyes, head, feet, hands, cap, strange 
phrases and senseless words, all of which are in the 
code, to direct their wonderful puppets. The public 
never gets a chance to find out what is behind all the 
running and throwing and batting unless some one 
tells and then it is impossible to tell even the half. 

One knows that when he sees Chance raise his cap. 



ONTHEBENCH 281 

a double steal is to be attempted, that If he raises four 
fingers, the batter is to be given a base on balls. One 
knows when McGraw changes places with the man 
next to him on the bench he is ordering his players to 
hit and run. One knows that when a Chicago coacher 
uses the given name of the base runner the given name 
is part of that code. One knows that when *'Doc" Mar- 
shall yells, "That's getting them," that "getting" is 
the catch word, and that when Hughie Jennings pulls 
grass with his right hand, he means one thing, with 
his left another, and one can hear behind Griffith's 
"Watch his foot," an order to steal. But no one knows 
it all. 



CHAPTER XVIII 

DECIDING MOMENTS OF 
GREAT GAMES* 

Nearly every baseballgame is won and lost on one 
play; a play that comes at the psychological instant. 
Among the players (who do not study psychology) the 
crucial moment is known as ^'the break," a phenome- 
non which no one has analyzed and which the players 
themselves do not understand. 

Twenty men on the bench are watching closely and 
intently every move of the pitcher. The tide of bat- 
tle rises, ebbs — and then suddenly, at the start of some 
inning, something happens. What it is no one outside 
the psychic sphere of influence ever will understand, 
but the silent, tight-lipped, alert fellows on the bench 
see something, or feel something and the mysterious 
"break" has come. 

"One ball !" The players on the bench suddenly stif- 
fen and prepare for action. "Two balls !" Two play- 
ers jump for bats and begin swinging them ; the coach- 
ers who have yelled only because it was their duty, 
suddenly begin raging, screaming and pawing the dirt. 
The manager who has appeared half asleep, makes a 
trumpet of his hands and leads his men, bawling or- 
ders to his players and wild taunts to the opponents. 

The spectators do not understand anything has hap- 

*Reprinted from THE AMERICAN MAGAZINE and copyrighted *y it. Additions 
and corrections by Evers. 

282 



DECIDING MOMENTS 283 

pened. Other batters have had two balls called many 
times — and the situation looks the same to the specta- 
tor who is beyond the "break" influence. In two more 
minutes the bench is a madhouse with twenty men 
shouting, screaming, ordering and moving. "Three 
balls." A madman rushes out to the "deck." "Four 
balls!" And the spectators join the players in the dem- 
onstration, not understanding why. The madness is 
spreading. Crack! A base hit, a bunt, a wild throw; 
another base hit; screams! shouts! imprecations! — a. 
roar of frantic applause ! a final long fly. The manager 
reaches for his glove, spits into it, and s:iys quietly: 
"Four runs. We've got 'em." The break is over and 
the players' bench is again the quietest part of the 
grounds. The surge of enthusiasm, confidence and 
noise subsides and the game is won. 

Baseball is almost as much psychological as athletic. 
Why one team can beat a stronger one regularly, and 
lose to a weaker with the same regularity; why one 
batter can hit one pitcher and is helpless before an- 
other; why one pitcher is effective against a strong 
team and at the mercy of another that cannot bat half 
as hard, are psychological problems. 

In 1908 Joe Tinker, who is only an ordinary batter, 
became imbued with the idea that he could hit Mathew- 
son's pitching at will. The confidence born of this 
idea enabled him to beat Mathewson out of several 
games, and after that Mathewson seemed to have the 
same belief, for Tinker during the season won five 
games from New York by his individual hitting, and 



284 TOUCHING SECOND 



in four of them Mathewson was the victim. One of 
the hits that Tinker made off Mathewson will be part 
of Chicago's baseball history for generations. The 
teams, with Mathewson and Brown pitching, had bat- 
tled for four innings, neither being able to score, 
and in the fifth Tinker came to bat. first in the in- 
ning. Tinker drove the ball on the line into the far 
left field corner — and he raced around the bases. At 
third base Zimmerman who was coaching, leaped out, 
tackled Tinker and threw him, trying to drag him 
back to third base, but Tinker broke away and scored 
with the only run of the game, beating Mathewson 
I to o. Twice later in the year. Tinker beat Mathew- 
son by long drives. 

One of the hardest games Chicago lost in that sea- 
son was to Brooklyn late in the year, at a time when 
the Cubs were fighting desperately to overtake New 
York and Pittsburg, and when every defeat seemed to 
wreck their last hope. The Champions had the game 
well in hand, but Tim Jordan was hitting terrifically 
and Lundgren seemed unable to stop him. Twice Jor- 
dan had driven the ball over the right field fence of 
the Washington Park grounds and yet when "the 
break" came in the eighth inning, Chicago was two 
runs ahead. With one man out, two on bases and 
Jordan at bat. Chance, seeing Jordan was so anxious 
to make another long hit that he was kicking one foot 
high in the air every time a ball was pitched, went to 
Lundgren and said: "Put it over straight. Make 
him hit it, if he hits it out of the lot." Four times 



DECIDING MOMENTS 285 

Lundgren tried to make his straight ball go over the 
plate, and four times it swerved outside and Jordan 
drew a base on balls. Brooklyn suddenly changed 
plans, ordered Lumley to bat for Lewis. He drove a 
three-base hit against the right field fence, and a long 
fly that followed allowed him to score, and gave 
Brooklyn the victory. 

Another game, lost in the critical instant to Cincin- 
nati on the same trip seemed to end Chicago's final 
chance for the pennant and was the result of just such 
a rally. The ninth inning saw the Cubs seemingly vic- 
torious, the pennant within their grasp, but the psychic 
wave inspired the Reds and with two men on bases, 
Lobert at bat and two strikes and two balls called. 
Chance ordered his pitcher. Overall, to pitch a straight 
low ball. The result of the entire season seemed to 
hinge upon that ball. Overall tried, but the fast ball 
went high, instead of low and Lobert sent it screaming 
over second, driving home two more runs and win- 
ning the game. 

That hit was one of the best testimonials to the 
honesty of baseball ever given, for Lobert was wild 
for Chicago to win the pennant, and a great friend of 
Overall, whose heart almost was broken by the hit his 
friend made. 

What probably was the most sensational finish ever 
recorded in any league was that in the Western League 
on the last day of the season of 1909. On that day the 
psychic wave struck Omaha. The situation was this: 
Des Moines and Sioux City practically were tied for 



286 TOUCHING SECOND 



the pennant, and each team was playing two games, 
the Sioux City team playing at Omaha. Sioux City 
had to lose two games and Des Moines had to win one 
to give Des Moines the championship. Sioux City 
lost the first game, but had the second won by three 
runs in the ninth inning. Manager "Ducky" Holmes, 
of the Sioux, did not feel the "break" coming. He 
leaped into his automobile after the first Omaha bat- 
ter in the ninth inning went out, called the attention 
of the crowd to his champions, and raced away toward 
home to start celebrating the victory. Just then the 
"break" came. Omaha needed three runs to tie, four 
to win. Hits and errors quickly filled the bases and 
with two men out three men were on the bases, and a 
home run drive scored four runs, won for Omaha, beat 
Sioux City, and gave the pennant to Des Moines. 

Manager Rourke hastened to the press stand and 
sent a hurried telegram to the police in a town between 
Omaha and Holmes' home, which read thus : — 

"Arrest Holmes, put him in handcuffs and a straight 
jacket, gag him and then break the news. Omaha 
won out in the ninth." 

One of the plays which turned the National League 
tide in 1908 was one made in July and was one of 
the most peculiar and decisive double plays on record. 
Chicago was leading by a score of 2 to i ^ ^^hen New 
York came in for the seventh inning and with Brown 
pitching it looked as if the game was won. Bresnahan, 
the first batter up, singled, and Donlin smashed a two 
base hit to right, sending Bresnahan to third. The 



DECIDING MOMENTS 287 

''break" was on and the Cubs in panic. Seymour poked 
a short "Texas League" fly to right field, and Evers 
played a trick that stopped the break. Pretending not 
to see the ball, he stood still to the last possible second. 
Donlin, seeing the ball falling safe and far out of 
Schulte's reach, made a frantic dash for third, intent 
upon scoring behind Bresnahan and giving New York 
the lead instead of only tying the score. Evers, seeing 
his trick had worked, reached the ball by a desperate 
sprint, caught it and instead of tossing the ball to 
Tinker, whirled and without looking threw to the 
plate, knowing Donlin could be doubled, and intending 
to prevent Bresnahan from trying to score on the dou- 
ble play, which he might have done. Bresnahan was 
driven back to third, and Kling racing in, met the 
throw, hurled the ball back to Tinker on second base 
completing the double play and stopping the break. 

A play which came at the deciding moment and 
wrecked Chicago's hope of the National League pen- 
nant of 1903, was peculiar. The Cubs, then young, 
were making a spurt, winning games steadily and 
pressing the leaders, when the play came up that broke 
the winning streak and robbed Jack Taylor of a record 
game. It was at Boston and in the ninth inning, with 
a runner on second base and two men out, the score 
I to o in f^ /or of Chicago. Boston had made only one 
hit off Taylor up to that time. The batsman hit an 
easy fly to left field and Slagle ran over and caught 
the ball fairly in his hands, but at the instant it struck 
his hands he collided with a fence and was rendered 



288 TOUCHING SECOND 

unconscious. Before another player could reach the 
unconscious man and pick up the ball, two runners 
scored and Boston won the game. 

The majority of games are won and lost by pitchers 
blundering in the crucial moment, but sometimes it is 
the catcher who makes the mistake. One of the fun- 
niest blunders of years was made by "Hackenschmidt" 
Gibson, Pittsburg's great catcher, who persisted in his 
error. "Lefty" Leifield is one of the best and brainiest 
of pitchers, but essentially a fast ball pitcher and a 
"waster." A waster is a pitcher who never puts the 
ball over the plate unless compelled so to do, but keeps 
it high, low, inside, outside, his plan being to make 
batters hit bad balls, Leifield seldom uses curves un- 
less compelled to, and his high fast ball which breaks 
with an odd little jump, is one of the hardest for a 
batter to hit. One day Leifield had held Chicago help- 
less and beaten them decisively, and the following day, 
after the Champions in a "break" moment had started 
a slashing attack upon Willis, "Young Cy" Young was 
sent in to check them on the theory that a change from 
a right to a left-handed pitcher might stop "the break," 
although every player knows that when a team starts 
hitting nothing will stop them except sheer accident or 
a sudden change of "luck." Gibson had observed Lei- 
field's effective use of his fast ball against Chicago and 
signaled Young to pitch fast ones. The Champions 
made seven straight hits before Young was retired, 
and all because Gibson did not differentiate between 
two kinds of fast ball, Leifield's going high and out, 



DECIDING MOMENTS 289 

while Young's, pitched shoulder high, angles down and 
low. 

Pitching and studying batters is an art in itself, and 
the pitcher who knows the men who oppose him, and 
who can put the ball where he wants it to go is a great 
pitcher, and one who sometimes can stop "the break." 
In the art of pitching, the batter, so far as brainwork 
goes, is a failure, except in instances in which batters 
are men of desperate courage and fearless. The bat- 
ter in matching wits with the pitcher, has no chance, 
because he is taking all the risk of injury, and trying 
to "outguess the pitcher'' is dangerous, as the one who 
blunders may receive a blow on the head that will end 
his career. The pitcher, on the other hand, can study 
the batter, analyze his position and condition of ner- 
vousness, and, if he has sufficient control of the ball, 
he can prevent him from hitting. 

Observe closely a pitcher when "the break" comes. 
Up to that time he has been pitching coolly, taking his 
time, studying each man — but, after "the break" he 
hurries, returns the ball as fast as he gets it, loses 
head, loses control, and loses the game. Mathewson, 
one of the greatest of them all, has only that one fault, 
and the instant the tide turns against New York, every 
effort of the other players is to slow down Mathewson 
and make him hold the ball, instead of pitching as soon 
as it returns to his hands. 

One of the prettiest bits of brain work was done by 
Leifield, by which he won a hard fought game from 



290 TOUCHING SECOND 

Boston and staved off defeat by sheer cleverness. Pitts- 
burg had been leading, but "the break" came against 
them and Boston started slugging and piling up runs 
rapidly, until one more hit meant victory, when Bill 
Dahlen came to bat. Dahlen is a dangerous hitter "in- 
side" — which means when the ball is pitched between 
him and the plate, and Leifield knew this, so he at- 
tempted to make his fast ball go high and outside. 
Instead the ball escaped him and went waist high across 
the plate, on the inside corner, just where Dahlen likes 
to hit. Dahlen, expecting a high fast one, was sur- 
prised, and swung at the ball, missing it. Instantly 
the entire Pittsburg team was screaming at Leifield, 
abusing him for making the blunder and ordering him 
not to pitch inside again. 

Leifield instantly decided that, as Dahlen had heard 
him ordered to keep the ball away, he would expect a 
fast ball outside, so instead of pitching there, he delib- 
erately repeated his blunder and Dahlen struck again. 
Clarke, angry and fearing Leifield had lost control 
and would lose the game, rushed in and ordered him 
to keep the ball outside. Leifield nodded assent, but 
pitched the ball where Dahlen likes it best for the third 
time and Dahlen struck out because he had been out- 
guessed and outgeneraled. 

Another game which Leifield won late in 1908 after 
one of the hardest struggles of the year, was won by 
his brainy pitching to John Kling, Chicago's heavy- 
hitting catcher, who came to bat in the eighth inning 
with men on second and third bases, and one out. Lei- 



DECIDING MOMENTS 291 

field pitched three balls so far from the plate Kling 
could not reach them, and Kling naturally supposed 
that Leifield was going to give him a base on balls, fill 
the bases and increase the chances for a double play, 
so he was stretching as far as possible, hoping Leifield 
would pitch close enough to the plate for him to hit to 
right field. Instead Leifield shot a fast ball straight 
over the plate, and followed this up by curving two 
over, striking Kling out, and the result was that Brown 
lost his first game in three years to Pittsburg. 

There are three decisive moments that stand alone 
in baseball history. Possibly the greatest of these was 
the famous tenth inning at Columbus, Ohio, when, 
with one hit, "Big Dave" Orr decided the American 
Association race, and kept St. Louis from breaking all 
records as a pennant-winning team. Brooklyn and 
St. Louis practically were tied for the championship 
on the last day of the season. If both teams lost, or 
both won, St. Louis would win its fifth pennant. If 
St. Louis won and Brooklyn lost, the Browns would 
have the honors — but if Brooklyn won and St. Louis 
lost, Brooklyn would win. Brooklyn, playing in the 
East, already had won, and St. Louis and Columbus 
were tied in the ninth inning. St. Louis scored one 
run in the tenth — and with a runner on second base, 
two men out — and three balls and two strikes called 
— Orr stood at the plate with one ball left to decide 
the season. He drove it over the center field fence — 
sent home a runner ahead of him, and won the pen- 



292 TOUCHING SECOND 

nant for Brooklyn, his hit, according to many, being 
the longest ever made. 

The famous spit ball pitched by Jack Chesbro, which 
slipped and beat New York out of a pennant, the pitch 
of Theo Breitenstein, the veteran, which gave Nash- 
ville victory in the ninth inning of the last game of the 
season, and with it the pennant, are historic events of 
recent years. 

The greatest individual feat ever performed in a de- 
cisive moment — probably in any moment — was a catch 
by which Bill Lange, now retired, saved a game for 
Chicago and $200 for himself at Washington years 
ago. There is a story leading up to that play. Lange 
had missed a train in Boston two days previous, and 
failed to arrive in New York in time to play there and 
Anson had fined him $100. Thereupon Lange missed 
a train to Washington, arrived on the grounds after 
the teams had practiced, and just in time to start the 
game, and for that Anson fined him another $100. 

The game that afternoon went eleven innings, Chi- 
cago scoring one run in the eleventh. There were two 
men out, a runner on bases, when Selbach, one of the 
hardest hitters of his time, smote the ball a fearful 
blow and sent it flying over Lange's head toward the 
center field fence. The hit seemed a sure home run 
but Lange, a man weighing 225 pounds, turned and 
without looking, sprinted desperately straight out to- 
wards the fence, racing with the flying ball. At the 
last instant as the ball was going over his head, Lange 
leaped, stuck up both hands, turned a somersault and 



DECIDING MOMENTS 293 

crashed against the fence. The boards splintered, one 
panel crashed outward, and out of the wreckage 
crawled Lange holding the ball in his hand. Lange 
came limping in with the crowd standing on seats, 
shouting madly, and said to Anson : "Fines go. Cap?" 
"Nope," said Anson, and the catch had saved the big 
fielder $200. 

Scores of miraculous individual feats have been 
made in deciding moments. On one occasion Jimmy 
Ryan leaped entirely over the bleacher barrier in the 
right field at Washington and caught a fly ball while 
falling into the crowd. One of the greatest exhibitions 
of nerve and courage of that sort was given by Hughie 
Jennings, now manager of Detroit, in a game at Chi- 
cago, when he was playing short stop for the famous 
old Baltimore team. The crowd had encircled the 
playing field, and was surging closer and closer to the 
base lines as the battle progressed and, when the ninth 
inning came with the score tied, one out and Bill Ever- 
ett on third base, it looked as if Chicago had won and 
that Baltimore, by losing would be compelled to sur- 
render the pennant. The batter hit a foul ball, high, and 
into the crowd back of third base, a crowd ten deep, 
part seated, part kneeling with rows of standing spec- 
tators behind. Jennings, tearing across from short, 
did not hesitate. Hurling himself through the air he 
caught the ball over the heads of the spectators and 
plunged down upon them. Everett meantime had 
touched third base, turned and was sprinting for home. 
Jennings, climbing upon the heads and bodies of pros- 



294 TOUCHING SECOND 



trate spectators, threw to the plate, cut off Everett, 
and in the next inning Baltimore won the game. 

That Baltimore crowd, a team of only fair players 
winning by dash, nerve and courage, gave many exhi- 
bitions of individual daring, but one of the greatest 
was the feat of "Wee Willie'' Keeler on the home 
grounds. Right field on the Baltimore grounds of 
those days was the terror of visiting players. It was 
down hill, rough and weedy, and back of it was a high 
fence, peculiarly constructed for advertising purposes. 
Inside the fence sloped at an angle of about 65 degrees, 
being straight on the outer side. Boston was playing 
there late in the season in which the two teams had 
their frantic struggle for the pennant, and late in the 
game, with runners on bases, Stahl drove a long fly 
to right that seemed likely to win the game for Boston. 
Keeler, one of the fleetest men in the business, seeing 
the ball was going over his head, leaped upon the slope 
of the fence and started to run along it, going higher 
and higher, and just as the ball was going over the 
fence he caught it. His momentum carried him hig'her 
along the incline and before the big crowd realized he 
had caught the ball, he was running along the top of 
the fence, and then holding the ball aloft, he plunged 
over and fell outside the grounds. Probably never a 
ball player received such an outburst of applause as he 
did when he climbed over the fence and tossed the 
ball to the infield. 

Another magnificent individual feat was that of 
"Dutch" Schaefer, then Detroit's second baseman, h. 



DECIDING MOMENTS 295 

the opening game of the World's Championship series 
between Detroit and Chicago in 1907, a game which, 
for thrills and excitement, was the greatest ever 
played. An immense crowd watched the battle and 
both teams were near exhaustion in the twelfth inning 
from the succession of tense situations and desperate 
plays. The crowd seethed and bubbled with excite- 
ment and spouted volcanoes of noise at every move of 
the players. The score was tied. Chicago had a man 
on first base and two out when Chance hit one of the 
fiercest drives of the year, a line smash between first 
and second which, if it cleared the infield, was certain 
to go to the corner of the grounds and bring home the 
run for which the clubs had fought for over two hours. 
Schaefer, playing down near second base, raced back 
ten steps, leaped, twisted, stuck up his gloved hand, 
with his back to the stand, and while twisting, 
dragged down the ball, and the crowd was so stunned 
by the wonderful catch that it forgot to applaud until 
the umpire had stopped play and called the game a 
draw. 

That same game, however, was thrown away by Chi- 
cago in the critical instant by Steinfeldt, who, in the 
stress of excitement, lost his head and the game at the 
moment of victory. That was in the tenth inning when 
a wild throw let Slagle sprint for the plate, as Stein- 
feldt w^as batting. The ball was recovered and thrown 
back to the plate, too late. It came high and five feet 
to the left of the plate as Slagle raced across, and, in 
that instant, when the crowd thought the game over, 



296 TOUCHING SECOND 

Stienfeldt hunched his shoulder, made the ball hit 
him, preventing the fielder from getting it. Slagle 
promptly was called out because of Steinfeldt's inter- 
ference and the struggle continued until Schaefer 
saved it by his wonderful catch. 

Sometimes the turning play of a game. The one that 
decides it is freakish, and one of the oddest freaks of 
recent years happened in one of the bitter contests be- 
tween the Chicago and New York teams, an accident 
that gave New York a victory, and almost gave them 
the championship. Chicago had runners on first and 
third bases, one man out and "Del" Howard at the bat, 
when the fates interfered. Howard hit a vicious 
bounding drive near second base, and Doyle was in 
front of the ball, with Bridwell standing on second 
base to receive the throw and relay the ball to first base 
to complete the double play. The ball broke through 
Doyle's hands and struck his shin bone with terrific 
force. Instead of the error making Chicago's victory 
easy, it beat the Cubs, for the ball, bouncing off Doyle's 
shin, went straight into Bridwell's hands and resulted 
in an easy double play that deprived the champions of 
the victory. 

In that same series there was one of the grandest 
exhibitions of generalship and pitching ever recorded. 
Crandall was pitching for New York, and the Giants 
gained a big lead early in the game. When the ninth 
inning started with New York four runs ahead, Math- 
ewson, who had been warmed up and ready to rescue 
Crandall, thought the game safe and, retiring to the 



DECIDING MOMENTS 297 

club house, disrobed, got under the shower bath, and 
prepared to don his street clothes. Just then "the 
break" came, the Cubs began a slashing batting assault 
upon Crandall and before McGraw could make a move 
Chicago had two runs and a man on bases. Tenney, 
Bridwell and Devlin were striving desperately to steady 
Crandall, who was getting worse and worse, and Mc- 
Graw sent out a C. Q. D. for Mathewson to save the 
day. 

Delaying, arguing, using every trick and device, 
McGraw played for time. Reports came from the club 
house that "Matty" already had his shirt on. Two sub- 
stitutes were acting as his valets, and he was dressing 
rapidly as possible, when the cruel umpire ordered Mc- 
Graw to play or forfeit the game and McGinnity was 
sent in to pitch. He used up as much time as possible, 
but finally was compelled to pitch one ball. Slagle 
rammed a safe hit past first base and Chicago needed 
only one run to tie the score. Meantime Mathewson's 
lost trousers had been found. Half a dozen substitutes 
were helping him dress and before McGinnity would 
pitch another ball, Mathewson, half dressed, with shoe 
strings unloosened and uniform awry came racing 
across the field. There was no time to warm up, for 
already McGraw had wasted eleven minutes and the 
umpire was getting peevish. Mathewson's arm was 
"cold" and to attempt to use either curves or speed 
with "Del" Howard at bat meant almost certain defeat. 
Mathewson dropped three slow, twisting fadeaways 
near the plate, two of them fading until they hit the 



298 TOU CHING SECOND 

ground. Howard took three desperate swings at them, 
struck out and the Giants were saved. 

Pitchers of the Mathewson stripe hold the key to the 
situation in the deciding moments of games, and upon 
their coolness depends the success of the efforts to re- 
sist "the break" influence. 

Clark Griffith, now manager of Cincinnati, than 
whom no brainier pitcher ever lived, was past-master 
of handling batters in the psychological moments. Once 
in Washington, with the Senators needing a run to 
tie — and with men on second and third, Al Selbach 
came to bat. Griffith's best line was taunting and nag- 
ging at batters, delaying and "stalling" to make them 
nervous and over anxious. He taunted Selbach thus : 
"You big stiff, you couldn't hit this one with a board," 
and then he pitched wide and high, and he kept up 
that kind of work until two strikes and three balls were 
called and Selbach was wild with anxiety to hit, and 
rising onto his toes with eagerness. Then Griff, smil- 
ing and exasperating, said : "Hit this, you big bloat," 
and he deliberately tossed the ball underhand toward 
the plate, so slowly that Selbach, in his eagerness to 
hit, over-balanced, fell to his hands and knees before 
the ball reached the plate and was called out on strikes. 

Griffith's greatest feat, though, was in a game be- 
tween Portland and Seattle in the old Northwest 
League, when he and the afterwards famous "Dad" 
Clarke were opposing each other in the final game of 
the season. The game went fourteen innings, with 
neither side able to score, and in the first of the four- 



DECIDING MOMENTS 299 

teenth, before a man was out, a hit and two errors filled 
the bases with Portland players. Clarke was running 
around, taunting Griffith, who walked out of the box, 
went over to **Dad" and said, "I'll bet you $io I strike 
out the next three men." He did, and Clarke was so 
angry he refused to pay the bet until years afterwards 
when both were in the National League. 

There is one more interesting incident that stands 
unique, and it is one by which Jimmy Slagle staved off 
disaster to the Chicago team in a twenty-inning battle 
between Chicago and Philadelphia, which Reulbach 
finally w^on two to one. In the eighteenth inning of 
that struggle, with a runner on first base, Sherwood 
Magee drove a hard line hit to left center. Slagle had 
just shoved his hand into his hip pocket to get his 
chewing tobacco when the ball was hit, and as he started 
in pursuit of it, he discovered to his horror that his 
right hand was caught in the pocket and refused to 
come out. A quick jerk failed to release the hand, and 
Slagle, racing on, leaped, stuck up his left hand, and 
caught the ball, saving the Cubs. Then he pulled out 
his tobacco, bit off a piece, and grinned as the crowd 
applauded. 



CHAPTER XIX 

SCORING 

Scoring is the process of transferring a baseball 
game from the field onto paper, and the scorers are 
the recording secretaries and historians of the game. 
I (Fullerton) started recording the doings of the big 
boys by cutting notches in a pine stick with an IXL 
two-bladed knife. A pine stick a foot long with twen- 
ty-seven notches on one side and sixteen on the other, 
which was the basis of a library of score books occu- 
pying two shelves, still remains to tell the story of the 
triumph fo the North Enders over the South Siders the 
day "Sharp Head" licked "Jack Rabbit" Smith. 

From the first the idea was impressed upon me that 
a score of a game should be a lasting record of that 
game, and going beyond the common rules, I evolved 
a system by which I can record every ball and strike 
pitched, every foul, every fly, every move made in a 
game. It is trouble, and except in important games, 
upon which a pennant may hinge, or in World's Cham- 
pionship contests, it is not necessary, save perhaps to 
decide arguments years later. Yet scoring in that man- 
ner is a source of much pleasure, for on long winter 
evenings, sitting near the cheerful sizz of a hard-work- 
ing radiator, I can draw out the score books of long 
ago, and have another game with Anson, root for poor 
Mike Kelly, or get all worked up for fear "Willie Bill" 

300 



SCORING 



301 



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biey to fullertow's scoring system 



302 TOUCHING SECOND 

Hutchinson will "go into the air." And in the days 
when I begin to drool and contend that the players of 
the present are mere school-boys compared to those of 
MY day, I can get out the old score books and prove it. 

The records of thousands of long-forgotten games 
are scrawled in signs that mean nothing to anyone 
else, but bring a flood of recollections, and memories of 
old friends. (Odd, isn't it, how they all are friends 
when they are scattered and gone?) Anyhow, it is 
worth while to save them, to record the games, ball by 
ball, for, even if the sight of the old score books does 
not bring back memories of brilliant plays, of fierce 
strife, of sad failure; even if they do not recall glad 
days, and gladder nights with men who were worth 
calling friends, weary rides, and joyous outings; why 
then maybe some day some fresh guy will want to bet 
on something, and you can just dig up that score and 
grab his kale seed. 

The system of scoring used varies with every-man, 
yet all have the numbers of the players as the bas'is. 
Everyone knows that "4-3" means that the second 
baseman fielded a ground ball and threw to the ^jrst 
baseman, and if the number in the Httle central scrjare 
is 2, everyone knows it made the second out in the 
inning. Everyone, almost, makes a straight mfirk for 
a hit, two straight marks for a two base hit, andi slants 
them in the direction the hit was made. 

My system is simple. I strive to make the,, marks 
express in themselves what happened. I draw a wavy 
line for a grounder, and try to approximate by the 



SCORING 303 



waves the number of bounds. A long arch means a 
long fly, a high curve a high fly, a sharp line, curving 
downward at the end, a line fly. If the ball goes be- 
tween the short stop and third baseman I merely mark 
the way it bounded, and put 6 on one side and 5 on 
the other. 

It is the same with pitched balls. The curve sym- 
bol curves in the direction the ball curved. If the 
curve went low, a little scratch at the bottom of the 
symbol shows that it did. If it goes outside the plate, 
a little line runs on that side of the curve mark at the 
height the ball went. A slow ball is a lazy '*S," a fast 
ball a straight line. The little marks indicating strikes 
are put in the upper left-hand part of the scoring square, 
the little marks meaning balls in the lower right-hand 
space. If the first ball was a strike, a minute figure i 
reveals that fact. If the next was a ball there is a min- 
ute 2 after the symbol indicating what kind of a ball 
was pitched and where it went. The sign for the spit 
ball slobbers down in a triple curve. 

The accompanying key, together with the explana- 
tion, ought to enable anyone to read the score without 
much trouble. It simply is picture writing, and any- 
one can make their own pictures of what a hit looks 
like. To those who know the game a full score in- 
cluding every ball and strike and foul sometimes is al- 
most as exciting as watching the game. The foul strike 
rule disrupted my scoring system for a little time, but 
by adding a little round "o" at the top of a strike it 
became simple. There are times, too, when a person 



304 TOUCHINGSECOND 

wants to know whether the batter struck at the ball, 
or the strike was called, and a Httle k (which means 
strike in baseball, for some strange reason), placed 
after the strike at which the batter swung, clarifies it. 

One really gets interested in adding to the system 
whenever any play that comes up seems to need record- 
ing. For instance, if there is a mark waving down to 
5, and after that the fatal letter E, which means error, 
one wants to know whether he fumbled or threw wild. 
A line making an inclined plane immediately follow- 
ing will show that the short stop scooped the ball, but 
made a high throw over the first baseman's head. "B B'' 
of course, can mean nothing but bases on balls, espe- 
cially with those four odd little marks down in the 
lower right hand space. The number of times at bat 
I mark alongside the numbers of the innings at the 
top of the score blank carrying forward the total each 
inning, to make certain the finals are correct. If pitch- 
ers change, I carry the total at bats on one side and the 
total at bats against the second pitcher on the other. 
Also it is imperative that a scorer credits fielders with 
their put-outs, assists and errors at the end of each half 
inning and immediately checks off that inning, so that, 
in case of error, it may be discovered in an instant. 

The sample score chosen to illuminate the scoring 
system is not the most perfect score possible because 
that certainly was an exciting game and exciting games 
sometimes disturb even scorers. It was the game that 
really decided that the Pittsburg team was to be the 
Champions of the National League in 1909 season. If 
Chicago had won that game, which it many times came 



SCORING 305 

near doing, as the score will show, the moral effect of 
the victory upon both teams probably would have re- 
versed the final result. The set-back, coming just at 
the moment when the Champions seemed finally about 
to pass their rivals, was a death blow to Chicago's 
hopes, and revived the apparently waning courage of 
the Pirates. If not the deciding game of the season, 
it was one of them, and as an individual game it was 
one of the most thrilling and sensational ever played. 
Look on the Chicago side in the seventh inning. 
See those marks ? Read them. They mean that Schulte 
opened against Camnitz with a slashing line drive and 
that Chance followed with a long fly into the crowd 
that hemmed in the field — a two-base hit under the 
rules putting men on second and third and no one out. 
Notice that scrawly, indistinct "5-2" in the upper left 
hand corner of Schulte's square? Know what that 
means? It means WAGNER, consarn him! That 
was when, diving forward he scooped off the ground 
a slow, high bounder hit by Tinker and with a wonder- 
ful throw to Gibson, cut Schulte off at the plate. You 
can see by the high curley-cue over that F C which 
means fielder's choice in Tinker's square, how that ball 
bounded, and it was one of the greatest plays of the 
day. Hofman's square says "F 8" and you can tell 
by the length of the curve over it how far Hofman hit 
that ball. Leach got it five feet from the crowd, or the 
game would have been over right there, but Leach did 
not have a chance of throwing Chance out at the plate, 
being too far out. Here ! don't forget to mark "Sac" 



306 TOUCHING SECOND 



over that "F 8." Don't forget that the rules give a 
batter a sacrifice on flies when runners score. 

Now look over in that Pittsburg's eighth inning, in 
Wilson's square, and if you love the Cubs, weep. Brown 
had the game won i to o in spite of all that great play- 
ing of Wagner, and here was Wilson at bat. Humph, 
Wilson can't take it in his own hands and hit 200. But 
—look at that mark. Straight as a die, a line single 
to the right of center. Wouldn't that jar you? And 
he had two strikes on him, too, and was fishing after 
the curve! Never mind. Brownie will get them yet. 
Wow ! Wow ! Punk ! Punkerino ! ! Rotten plus four ! ! ! 
DID you see what happened ? Aw, nothin' ! nothin' ! ! 
Only this ham, Needham — What do they let that fellow 
catch for, anyhow ? Oh, Archer and Moran both hurt, 
eh? WHY don't Kling come back? What DID hap- 
pen, eh? Why, Brownie pitched high. Needham 
knocked the ball down all right. It fell right at his feet 
in front of him and Wilson never moved. Then what 
does he do but think the ball has gone to the stand and 
turn and chase after it and let Wilson go to second! 
Wouldn't that — Oh, what's the use? There he goes 
to third while Schulte is clawing Gibson's line drive 
out of the crowd. Great catch, that, Frankie, old boy ! 
You're the child wonder who can do the stunts, eh ? 

They'll never score now. Say, who's this coming to 
bat ? Hyatt ? Never heard of him. Wow ! Brownie's 
got him. Two strikes! 

Rotten ! rotten ! SAFE ? Why he was out as far as 
from here to the Lake Front. What DO you think of 



SCORING 307 

that umpire ? Letting them score on that after Tinker 
made that stop and throw to the plate! Say, if they 
haven't got the worst bunch of holdup men, yeggs and 
sandbaggers for umpires I ever saw! Well, anyhow, 
they only tied it. We'll lick 'em now. 

Do you see those marks in Chicago's tenth inning? 
Look at them closely for never again will you see them. 
In that inning Fred Clarke made three of the greatest 
catches ever a man made, and he alone stood between 
Chicago and its fourth Championship. Steinfeldt hit 
a low, vicious, line drive down the left field line. Like 
a madman Clarke came racing down along the wall 
of humanity banked around the field, almost brushing 
against the spectators, touching their feet as he sped 
to save Pittsburg. At the last moment, as the ball was 
going into the crowd a few feet inside the foul line, 
Qarke lurched, threw himself through the air, dived at 
the ball and, turning, rolling and whirling, he crashed 
into the crowd, and came up with the sphere clinched 
in his fingers. 

The crowd, as he limped back to his place, paid the 
Pittsburg leader one of the greatest tributes ever given 
a foeman, cheering for minutes. While the cheers still 
were echoing Clarke again smashed into the crowd and 
hauled down Hofman's hard drive and then, sprinting 
far out to left center, against the crowd, he caught 
Tinker's smash which deserved to be a home run, and 
the inning was over. 

Those rows of straight marks in Pittsburg's eleventh 
inning tell the rest of the story of how Brown, worn 



308 TOUCHING SECOND 

down by the fierceness of the struggle, pitching desper- 
ately, wavered, and how, helped by fumbles and fail- 
ures of the broken infield, Pittsburg pounded the way 
to victory. 

Now, honestly, isn't that almost as much fun as pay- 
ing fifty cents to sit in the sun with pop peddlers crawl- 
ing over your back and policemen jabbing you in the 
ribs with clubs? Wouldn't you rather sit at home by 
the fire, and see it all over again in scrawly little 
marks? If you would, then take a book next summer 
and store up some games against the hard winter. It's 
easy, if that fat man in front will only sit down and 
let you see what is being pitched. 

And then, next winter, when the missus says she 
thinks you might at least stay home ONE night in 
winter, when you go gadding around ball games all 
summer, you can dig up the score, and get a big, easy 
chair, and toast your shins, and just root, and root 
and root. 



FINIS 



When Good Fellows Get Together 

^ For all generous mmJs that have been young there is 
a radiance of loveliness that nothing can ever obscure 
over the Bohemian days of long ago. Remembrance 
hallows them : all their hardships are forgotten ; through 
the mists of time they glimmer in unsullied beauty, com- 
ing back with their lost loves, their vanished comrades, 
their hopes that since have withered, their dreams that 
are dead and gone ; and the heart thrills to remember, and 
ior a moment the glory of morning streams over all 
the worli.— William Winter, 

^ These lovely lines serve as the introduction to WhEN GoOD 

Fellows Get Together which is a most charming book — 

either to own or to give a friend. 

^The editor, James O'Donnell Bennett (Dramatic Critic of The 
Chicago Record Herald), has chosen with rare taste a compre- 
hensive ' election of quotations from a wide range of authors, both 
noted and little known, expressive of good-fellowship, optimism, 
uplift and cheerfulness. 

^ The following department headings give an idea of the range 

of the subject matter: The Good Fellow's Short Guide, 
XXV Toasts from Shakespeare, Meeting and Parting, 
Eating and Drinking, Smoking and Dreaming, Living 
and Loving, Sweethearts and Wives, Playing the 
Game, The Golden Days, etc., etc. 

Printed in two colors on fine paper and bound in dark green cartridge 
paper covers with an inlaid reproduction in three colors of a beau- 
tiful painting by F. S. Manning. 12mo. 200 pages. Price $1.00. 
Bound in fine Persian Ooze, gold stamping, boxed; price $2.00. 



MISS MINERVA aJlb 
WILUAM GREEN HILL 

By FRANCES BOYD CALHOUN 



^Screamingly ridiculous situations are mingled with bits of 
pathos in this delightfully humorous tale of the South. 

^ Do you remember "Helen's Babies"? and "Mrs. Wiggs"? 
Do you recall "Tom Sawyer" and "Huckleberry Finn"? 

Miss Minerva and William Green Hill is every bit as 

genuine as any of these. 

fl It contains a delightful little love story, but deals principally 
with William Green Hill, a six-year-old boy with sunny hair, 
a cherub's face, and a wonderful dialect acquired from the plan- 
tation negroes among whom he formerly lived. In the narration 
of the activities of Billy and his associates, Jimmy, Frances and 
Lina, the author shows an intimate knowledge of the workings 
of the juvenile mind and makes the pages sparkle with laughs. 

^From start to finish Ibere is no let-up in ^e fun. Any normally 
constituted reader of the book will soon be in a whirl of laugh- 
ter over " Sanctified Sophy," "Uncle Jimmy-Jawed Jup'ter," 
"Aunt Blue Gam Tempy's Peruny Pearline's chillens," and the 
other quaint characters of this fascinating book. Their hearts 
will go out to lovable little Billy, and they will be convulsed 
by the quaint speeches of bad Jimmy, who says to his chym : 
"You all time gotter get little boys in trouble. You bout th^ 
smart- Alexist jack-rabbit they is." 

Small \2,mo,', 212 pages; bound in scarlet 
cIctK cover attractively stamped ; 22 clever 
illustrations by Angus MacDonall. Price $L00. 






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